In My Name
by Rayless Night
Summary: postgame AU. Even when you have no name, no past, no home and no memory, there's still plenty you can lose.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Important Note: Thanks first of all for reading my Alternate Universe story. I don't normally write them, but the plot for this one fell on me like a shelf of books and damaged my brain permanently. Three things to mention:_

_1. It says that the genre is General. That means it's basically about everything._

_2. This story is a stand-alone from my Salome-centered story _Wishes_. It makes a few references to things that happen in _Wishes_, but they're minor, so you can read this one alone and still understand what's going on._

_3. Finally: In what way is this AU? Simply **this**: I changed the very end. Everything that happens before Makai Kingdom's ending credits is exactly the same. Exactly. To put it in other terms, everything that happens in _Wishes_ before chapter ten is exactly the same. The Sacred Tome, Salome dying, Zetta being changed back and writing in the Sacred Tome -none of that has changed. I promise. It's just the stuff after the credits that I've messed with. _

_And how I have messed with it..._

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ Makai Kingdom_ is the property of Nippon Ichi Software. Rating is for language, violence, and sexual themes, including discussion of rape. _

* * *

**In My Name**

**1**

They had to rush back home to outrun the sandlions. They hadn't even been very far out, just letting the goats graze in the furthest pasture, right on the edge where the scraggling farmland surrendered to the Bet ilKarkadaam desert. That was because Kesh wanted to get her alone, before she had to go for good.

But she hadn't been at all interested in keeping in touch, or touching at all (which was just as well, Kesh tried to remind himself). And then they'd seen -much closer than was comfortable- three huge desert cats creeping along the rocks towards the herd. The mean things liked human flesh as much as anything else, and there had been a mad scramble to collect all the goats, even the stubborn little blue and black kid, and run for the village, which was a good mile away. The sandlions followed at an easy trot, thinking they had the time to play. Besides, they knew they'd need plenty of strength to bring a human down. Kesh blew on his horn as they ran for their lives, and they got back in time to see the village men rushing out with rifles. The sandlions skidded to such fast stops, they almost sat down. Then they jumped over each other in their haste to get away. She had said she remembered living in a desert before, but not near such aggressive predators. Kesh admitted that he thought it was the village's fault, herding up the sandlions' primary prey.

Still, Kesh was confident enough to lead them through the town at a walk, the goats bumbling on ahead, eager for the water trough. Kesh turned to her. "We made it just in time, heh?"

She nodded, catching her breath. Kesh studied her admiringly. She couldn't have been down south in the deserts long, not with such milky white skin. He'd never seen anything like it before, translucent as ivory and soft as...as... well, he hadn't exactly gotten a chance to touch it yet. Wouldn't _ever_ get to, the way things were going.

No, she definitely came from the north. She looked like a lot of the northerners he'd seen, her with the pale skin and pale yellow hair. Her hair had been short at first, but now it was halfway to her shoulders, straight and thick, just a bit longer in the front. Her eyes were green with a clear, water-like quality. Kesh smiled. You only ever found those eyes in the south. He could definitely believe that she, and one of her parents, had been raised in a desert. She was tall -northern. She was graceful -southern. All of these things, he'd had to tell her. Because she just hadn't known herself.

"Hey, Kesh! Zetta!"

They both turned. Rejuul, Kesh's best friend, came jogging up, his dark skin burnished with sweat. "Zetta," he huffed as he came to a stop, "is it true? Is old Antiha kicking you out tomorrow?"

Zetta frowned wryly. "I'm afraid so."

Rejuul gave her a friendly smirk. "Aw, too bad. But still, you've been here a month. It's about time you headed back."

Zetta compressed her lips and crossed her arms. "You still don't believe me?"

Rejuul and Kesh shot each other looks then, in unison, gave Zetta their gooiest indulgent smiles.

Zetta's hand twitched to hit them both. "Why would I lie to you? I'm not from the city. I don't know_ anyone_. I have amnesia."

No, somehow their smiles went even gooier.

Zetta sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Whenever anyone else says I have amnesia, it sounds so tragic. But when I say it, it just sounds pathetic."

"C'mon, Zetta. Square up," Kesh said, falling inadvertently into northern slang. "You can't possibly have amnesia. I mean, you showed up in that _outfit_. You'd have to remember putting that thing on."

"I wish I'd seen that outfit," Rejuul commented, for the fourteenth time, his eyes getting that faraway look.

Kesh went on. "You're obviously an actress. And you've been having fun driving my ma mad for the last month. But now you can tell us what it's all about."

Zetta closed her eyes in a desperate bid for patience. It was like there was a storm cloud where her brain should be, sending out jabbing bolts of lightning.

Lightning. It hadn't once stormed while she'd been here._ I know what lightning is. I've been in a climate where I've seen it before._ She breathed hard. _What does that tell me about me? I think..._ Zetta held her breath for a moment, listening to her nerves. Her body remembered something, but what? Had she been struck by lightning before? Smelling the blast of thunder and ozone? Or was it just another guess?

Zetta sighed sharply and opened her eyes. "If I ever find out what it's about, I'll _tell_ you. And I'll wear the outfit." She turned and stalked through the goats, back to the house.

Kesh and Rejuul watched her go. "Gorgeous," Rejuul said, for the fifty-first time.

"She's on the run from someone," Kesh said, for the eleventh time.

"We'll save her."

"Yeah, Rej. Right."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Zetta stepped inside the house, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. Antiha was nowhere to be found. The house only had four rooms, two bedrooms, a store room and the large common room where the Surji family ate and entertained. Zetta guessed the Surji matriarch was down at the river mouth, getting water.

Zetta thought two things: _I remember indoor plumbing. I_ miss _indoor plumbing._ And then she stood in the doorway, thinking about the river mouth. She closed her eyes, trying to listen to her nerves again. But they didn't seem to remember being carried up the river.

The river flowed inland._ I came from the sea,_ Zetta thought, though she'd thought that many times before. It didn't give her any clues this time either.

People had joked, she's a nereid, a sea-goddess, come to find a human mate. She'll get a baby and carry it back into the water, give it sea plants to eat that will grow it fins, make it ruler of the blue deep.

Zetta sighed. If any of that were true, she didn't remember.

"Hey, move it," said Antiha. Jumping, Zetta moved it and stood aside as Antiha strode in, flicked on the front light and slid her two two-gallon buckets to the floor. "Kesh back with the goats?"

Zetta glanced out the window. "He's penning them."

Antiha flashed her a hard glance. "And you've told him you're leaving tomorrow?"

"Well, he knows it, of course." Another lightning burst of anger shot through her. "I don't want to steal your son."

"True enough," Antiha replied, getting a ladle. "But he'd like to steal you."

Zetta snorted.

"High and mighty. At least we all know _that_ about you."

Zetta smiled bleakly. At least she knew that being high and mighty came very naturally to her. "Antiha," she said after a moment, "I know I've thanked you before-"

"But you don't really like me," Antiha rode over her. "And you feel guilty about it. So you act like thanking me over and over again will be like paying me extra."

"You're so perceptive," Zetta said sweetly.

"You can gut those deylas."

Zetta walked over to the basket of firm, deep red fruit, collected a spoon and commenced digging out the dark flesh. She put the black seeds in a special jar Antiha kept for them.

"Still," Zetta said, knowing how grim things could get when Antiha was just staring silently at her, "I have to thank you again. The first time I thanked you, I didn't realize how much you hated me."

"Hmph. I didn't hate you when I found you."

"But you've let me stay here a month."

"And a pretty vacation I'm sure it's been."

Zetta looked up from her half-carved deyla. "You don't believe me either? You think I'm an actress?"

Antiha didn't answer.

"What sort of actress," Zetta demanded, "lets herself get shipwrecked, hit on the head, washed up-"

Antiha gave her a long, steady glare. Her eyes were green, like Zetta's. "I don't know what happened to you. And you say you don't know either." She went back to crushing some sort of cactus into a green powder. "I just found you at the river mouth, unconscious, in some sort of harlot's outfit with a knife. Blood dripping all over you. Honestly, I don't want to know about you. And if you really do have amnesia, you should be thankful. I wish we lived closer to the city. The police and the hospitals could've dealt with you, but no."

Zetta went back to carving, trying not to let any of the other woman's words hurt. "And you called me Zetta," she said, concluding that chapter of the story.

"You called yourself Zetta," Antiha insisted. "We asked you for your name and all you kept saying was 'Zetta'."

Zetta couldn't help herself from looking up again. "I wasn't even half-conscious at the time. That's what Kesh says."

"So?"

"I could've been calling someone _else's_ name."

"If you say so."

With a tired sigh, Zetta went back to carving. "I've... just never felt that Zetta was really my name, that's all."

"It's probably your stage name."

Zetta gritted her teeth, anger building in her. But maybe Antiha was right. Maybe she _was _a stage harlot. She could be anything, anyone.

So who was she right now?

Xxxxxxxxxx

After she was done with the deylas, Zetta rose and retreated to the storeroom, where she'd been sleeping for the last four and a half weeks. She sat down on her cot. Aside from the gift of health, food and shelter, the Surjis had given her three things. First was the long gray dishdasha she wore, a shapeless, sexless garment that Kesh had outgrown and that was common everywhere south of the Azthayo City metropolitan area. Second was the cot, though Antiha had stressed that Zetta couldn't keep it. Third was a limp leather sack. Zetta opened it. In it were the articles she'd been found with. A lump of emotion in her throat, Zetta stripped and redressed herself in the bag's contents, willing her mind, willing her body to remember. _Mind, one day, four and a half weeks ago, you decided you would wear this outfit. Why? Body, you remember this fabric. What were you doing when you were wearing it?_

There was no mirror. Zetta looked down at herself, examining herself from all angles, trying to get a complete picture of what she looked like. The "harlot's outfit" didn't offend her, though she recognized that no one else in the village dressed this way. She ran her hands along the form-fitting black body suit, running up from her toes to her chest. It was split in the front, clear past her navel, leaving both breasts mostly bare. Over this was a long white skirt, slit to both hips, its hem trailing several inches across the floor. There was a broad, cloth-of-gold belt around her hips. There were two black bell sleeves that hugged her upper arms, ending in wide cloth-of-gold cuffs. There was a pair of leather high-heeled sandals. There were earrings, four slim identical bars of gold. Zetta fingered her ears, feeling the two holes close together on each lobe. And then... Zetta frowned as she extracted last few items from the bag. Some of these she just didn't understand at _all_. There was an impossible loopy gold contraption... after a lot of thought, Zetta realized that she was supposed to put her arms through each large hoop. The hoops were attached to gold cups that fitted over her breasts. And then there were the two black things. One black thing looked like the back of a chair, arched with a series of vertical rungs. There weren't any clasps, and Zetta couldn't see how to attach it to herself. Or where. The other black thing was a large flat slab of something curved into a crescent. It was more than a yard from tip to tip. Again, no clasps. Zetta put both black things on the bed.

She ran her hands over the long, silky white skirt. It was an expensive harlot's outfit, that much was obvious. Probably Antiha was going to ask to keep it, so she could sell it. That definitely wouldn't happen.

It had been covered in bloodstains. Antiha had labored with salt to bring the stains out (better price that way), and Zetta couldn't see any traces. _My blood?_ she asked her body. _Do you remember if it was my blood? Tell me what happened!_

_I was somebody! Tell me what happened!_

Stomach tight with frustration, Zetta bent and withdrew the last object from the sack.

It was a knife.

This, Antiha had said, had not been bloody.

Zetta stared at the knife, slowly soothed by holding it. She recognized this, even if she didn't remember it. The long, straight blade, the bone hilt, the gold ankh set into the pommel. Unlike the name Zetta, she _knew_ this knife had belonged to her. Holding it, her palm recalled its contours, her body remembered how to stand, how to parry, to thrust.

To stab.

To kill.

When you stabbed someone in the heart, the knife blade scraped past the breastbone, so hard, so grating you felt it through your own bones. And then it entered the heart, which would still be beating. The knife jerked with each desperate pulse. And then the enemy spat his blood into your eyes, warm and-

Zetta remembered to breathe. _Is this me? Is this my memory? Was I a killer?_

She felt frightened, not appalled. She was a killer. Her mind accepted it. She was a killer. Her body remembered how to kill.

Zetta bit her lip. Well and good. Now if she could only remember her name.


	2. Chapter 2

2

She was ready to go by four-thirty the next morning, barefoot, wearing the dishdasha, her sack and its precious contents under her arm. Antiha just nodded at her as she left. Zetta walked down the dusty street to Guspat's, the wealthiest man in town, the only man who had indoor plumbing and a car. Zetta met Kesh at the awning that served as a garage. Guspat normally took the exhausting two-day drive into Azthayo City himself. He had a fairly vigorous trade in tiger jade, a type of mineral found liberally in the desert that could be doctored to pass for emerald. But since Antiha, feeling certain that Zetta came from the city, insisted she be brought back, Kesh had volunteered to do the drive himself.

Zetta glanced at the car critically. It was tan and boxy with thin wheels, had one windshield wiper which stuck out from the shield at an eighty degree angle, and more than a few dents in its side. With a raised eyebrow, Zetta noted that not only were the triple shock bumpers missing, there weren't any anterior drills, no gun brackets to shoot through, nor even roll bars. She shook her head. _There's no way we're going to get through the enemy lines in this deathtrap._

Kesh was leaning on the hood, face down, snoring gently. Zetta gave him a substantial poke in the shoulder. "You were boozing with Rej all night again."

"Whaddefer you say," Kesh mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his face.

"Did Guspat give you the directions?"

"Yeah, yeah. 'S pretty much a straight shot north." He blinked. "Y'look good this morning. Y'always look good, Zetta."

"I'll drive," Zetta decided. She waited for a misgiving. None. Okay, she must know how to drive. She climbed into the driver's seat, Kesh clambering in on the other side, throwing a bag over his shoulder into the back seat with the jade and tossing some keys onto the dash board. Zetta waited very patiently, but all Kesh did after closing the door was settle against the ratty seat cushions and close his eyes.

"Hey," she said abruptly, not caring if he had a hangover, "where's the Makai Card?"

"Muh..." He blinked his blood-shot eyes open at her. "Th'what?"

"The Makai Card."

He stared emptily back.

"The Makai Card. You know, the little card that you slide into the ignition slot, allows you to get this glorified wheelbarrow running?"

He snorted. "There's no slot. You use the key."

Zetta's turn to show off her empty stare.

With another snort, Kesh reached forward, grabbed the rattling jumble of keys, and stuck one into the incredibly small ignition slot. With an abrupt rattle, the car burped into life.

Kesh settled back against the cushions, yawning. "Makai Cards things they use up north?"

"Eh..." Zetta honestly didn't know. She'd just assumed everyone used Makai Cards. Carefully, she backed the car into the street.

"Funny word," Kesh went on. "Makai. Wassit mean?"

"Uhm." Zetta tried to concentrate on her driving, not her frustration. She should _know_ what Makai meant. It was a word she felt she'd heard every day. However, try as she might, she couldn't remember any context other than driving. She glanced down at the dash, looking for the gun mounts, the precision scopes, the drill controls. Nothing. Well, there was a radio. That was something standard issue vehicles didn't get.

_Didn't get where?_ Zetta asked herself. _Up north?_

She turned the car's headlights north, heading across the night-chilly desert.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It took two days, of course, and they drove the whole time, alternating, heading endlessly alone down the straight, single-lane road. Antiha had packed their meals, some of the deyla jam she'd made on hard corn wafers, and some truly revolting black coffee. During her free shifts, Zetta stared blankly out the window, looking for karkadaans or jackals or even some actual scenery. The Bet ilKarkadaam only grew less impressive the further north they got, straggling trees on a hard-packed, dry flatland.

Zetta had the last shift the second night. She'd been driving since one-thirty. The moon was gone. Her headlights looked like they were oozing yellow ghosts in front of her. Far, far, far ahead, she could see the electric light smog of the city. She'd flipped on the radio to drown out Kesh's snoring. It was some pop song from the mainland, back where everything was polished and civilized (so Kesh said; Zetta couldn't remember it). A girl with a breathy voice singing about holding some guy all through the night. Zetta shook her head, trying to stay awake. She couldn't be sure, but she guessed it was around three-thirty. The sun would be up in two and a half hours, and then she could sleep again. Now it was just her, traveling across the desert, yet herself not moving at all.

_I don't like it._ She'd gone to the river mouth a hundred times it felt like, searching for some clue to her identity. There'd been nothing. There probably hadn't ever been anything in the first place, and nothing new would ever turn up. Still, the river mouth was another link to her past, and she didn't like leaving it miles behind.

_Maybe you just have to realize that you may never remember who you were._

_I don't want to start over a new life. Four weeks into this new existence, and I'm already worn out._

_Zetta. Zetta. Whose name did I steal?_

She took a deep breath, trying to remember. But there wasn't anything.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Zetta was driving again when they neared Azthayo City, about at noon. That was after Zetta had driven them clear off the road in a sudden bolt of alarm.

"Hey," Kesh had said, breathing hard as the other car zoomed past, rattling theirs a bit. "It's a two-lane road. Can't you see? You were driving right down the center!"

Two-lane road? Since when did cars stay in lanes? Zetta watched the other cars rumble past in varying stages of classiness and clunkiness. "So," she said, "who are our enemies?"

Kesh's eyes went a bit glassy. "Heh?"

"Our enemies. Why else would we be in a car if there wasn't a fight?"

Kesh stared at her a long moment, then laughed half-heartedly. "Things must be pretty crazy up north, hey? I think I'll drive."

"No -I -fine," Zetta muttered. They changed seats and rolled into Azthayo City.

"You don't look impressed," Kesh commented.

"The buildings should be taller."

"Everything's grand up north."

Still, Zetta looked around with interest as they passed the great plaza with the enormous bronze statue of a samurai in its center, past the open air market, through the industrial center, past the grand buildings of the cultural center. Zetta didn't recognize a stone of it. And the amount of dirty people sitting with their backs against the buildings didn't comfort her._ Still,_ Zetta told herself, in her consoling high and mighty way, _I'm intelligent. I'm strong. I can do this._

"So," Kesh was saying, "where do I drop you off? You live in one of these?" They had turned down a street of wide, tall houses colored in deep russets and saffrons. Mansions.

"No," Zetta said. "Drop me back off at the plaza, I guess."

Kesh glanced at her, spinning the wheel around a corner. "You gonna be okay, Zet? You were scaring me back there."

"Don't worry."

"So you _do_ have a plan?"

"Just deliver the jade."

"You're pretty cocky for a girl who says she doesn't remember anything."

Zetta's sack was on her lap. Feeling through the cloth, she found the comforting touch of her knife._ I was skilled. I wore gold. So I succeeded once, even if I don't remember it. If I'm worth anything, I can succeed again._ Never mind that her heart was pounding too rapidly and her hands left the sack slightly damp.

They pulled up at the plaza, people (southerners in dishdashas, southerners in northern jeans and tee shirts, northerners in jeans, northerners in tourist-made tie-dye dishdashas) walking in front of and behind the momentarily stopped car. Kesh looked at her a moment, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. Zetta didn't pull away because it was a sweet concerned kiss, but she didn't encourage it either.

"Okay, well," Kesh said, "you take care. You've got our address so you can write. I know ma wasn't crazy about you, but if you get in any trouble-"

"It's okay, Kesh."

He frowned. "I don't like just dropping you here. You sure you got somewhere to go?"

She opened the door. "It's okay, Kesh." She stepped out. "Thank you again, so much." She closed the door. She felt Kesh watching her as she made her way into the crowd. After a moment, Kesh drove away.

Zetta dashed over to the fountain by the samurai statue. The cobblestones were_ hot_. It was like walking on a grill. She tenderly rubbed her bare feet and wondered how she was going to acquire shoes (she had no immediately plans to go job hunting in her flimsy, high-heeled sandals). Her hand closed over the sack. No. She wouldn't sell one gold earring, not unless she absolutely had to. She watched the people pass. So many of them, thousands, and she couldn't blame any of them if they didn't take pity on her. With so many people so close together, there wasn't time to take care of strangers.

She stayed at the fountain until late afternoon, waiting for the streets to cool down. She scanned the crowds, she read the inscription on the samurai's statue _(Seedle, Lord of Bushido, Who in 1072 of the Third Sidereal Cycle Claimed Azthayo for Those It Had Oppressed, Who Died at the Traitor's Hand; May His Soul be Lulled to Rest by the Prayers of His Faithful)_. She tried to think of what she might be good at that could get her a job. A job that wouldn't leave her humiliated, Zetta stressed to herself.

She knew she could kill. That sort of job didn't particularly appeal to her. And she knew she was beautiful. That didn't yield a very enviable job either. Her choices seemed painfully narrow. She didn't live anywhere, she didn't know who she was, she didn't know if she'd been trained in any job...

When the sunlight had diffused sufficiently, Zetta got up and went walking.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She ended up as a waitress for a little family-owned diner with a name she couldn't even pronounce.

"Alfar ilMishmoosh," she said.

"Alfar ilMissmoosh," corrected Pa Missmoosh.

"Right."

"And you say you want an advance on your pay?" Pa Missmoosh added, raising an inauspicious eyebrow.

_You're short-staffed,_ Zetta wanted to remind him. She looked at him through her eyelashes. Not seductively, but it was better than a flat out "_Yes!_ Er, please."

"Please?"

"Where you live?"

"Nowhere yet. Which is why I need some money now."

"On the run, huh?"

Zetta considered this. "Well, that's a distinct possibility."

He jabbed a finger at her. "What's up? You're pregnant? Running from your boyfriend? You know, here _isn't_ the place to come for that. The police station is up-"

"I don't need the police. Just money."

"Hmph."

"Trust me, if I'm not the best damn waitress you've ever seen, you just fire me, okay?"

He squinted under his bushy gray hair and his bushy gray eyebrows and his bushy gray mustache in his brown walnut face. He snorted again. "No complaining about the customers, got it? You just take it, all right?"

"All right."

"Okay, fill out this sheet."

She filled it out.

_Name: Zetta _

_Sex: female_

_Hours available: any_

She handed the sheet back.

"Hey!" barked Pa Missmoosh, "you left more than half of the questions blank!"

"I-" Zetta hooded her eyes and made her voice a bit grim. "I can't tell you everything." She arched her eyebrows._ Top secret, _Pa Missmoosh. _Important government secrets._

"Just fill in all the blanks with anything, all right!"

Zetta took it back.

_Name: Zetta_

_Sex: female_

_Age: 167_

_Address: 1313 Binglebury Lane, Azthayo City, Imira, 66661._

_phone number: (012) 345-6789_

_work experience: goat herd for two weeks_

_emergency numbers (2) : (ONO) PLZ-HELP; (SOS) SVE- MEEE_

_desired job: anything_

_available hours: any_

_references: My mumsy and dudsy think I am a very smart girl._

She handed it back. Pa Missmoosh didn't even blink. He shoved it back. "You need a last name."

Zetta scribbled and passed it back.

This time he raised an eyebrow. "Your last name is Xxxxxxxxxx?"

"It's a colloquialism of the far east," Zetta explained sweetly. "You pronounce it Xmith."

"Fine, Miss Zetta Xxxxxxxxxx. Go over to that cupboard and pick out a uniform. One uniform. It's your responsibility to take care of it."

_Finally_, Miss Xxxxxxxxxx was thinking, _something other than this pillow case to wear_. She heaved the cupboard door open. Inside was a regiment of gray dresses, collared, short sleeves, button-down the front, down to the knees, two enormous chest pockets, two enormous skirt pockets. Zetta couldn't remember ever having seen anything uglier, and she was grateful.

She picked up one of the smaller ones. It still looked like it had been tailored exclusively for an elephant _(Hey. I know what an elephant is)_. "Are there..." She hesitated. "Any shoes?"

"You got no shoes?" Pa Missmoosh asked.

"No."

He sighed. "Well, I can't let you work without shoes. Wait here, I'll be right back."

He came back with a pair of floppy boots. "Here. They're on loan. I want them back in a month."

Zetta gingerly slipped her feet in. Being the color of old mucus as well as three sizes too big, they were the perfect accessory for the dress.

"Thanks," Zetta said, grimacing. "When do I start working?"

"Be here at five o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Right." That shouldn't be hard. Zetta was half-thinking she might have to pass the night under the diner's awning. Wouldn't that be fun?


	3. Chapter 3

3

Zetta dragged her feet back to Alfar ilMissmoosh's at four-thirty the next morning. After begging for an advance on her first pay, she'd found her first night at the Mumtaaz Apartments memorable but not comfortable. She'd spent all of it stretched out in front of her door (at least she'd be able to trip an intruder first thing) and listening to the cockroaches skitter past her nose.

And after she'd banged on the restaurant's door six times, a middle-aged, dollop-shaped woman bustled up, narrowed her eyes through the pre-dawn blue darkness, apparently recognized the waitress uniform for what it was, and unlocked the door. "You're early," she said accusingly.

"Sorry." Zetta made her way in, dodged a five year old girl who was waving a stuffed monkey, scooted around an eight year old sitting on the floor while doodling on the back of a paper place mat, and stepped over a flood of crayons that issued from an upended coffee can. She found Pa Missmoosh at the stove, arguing with a tall young man with a goatee. "Fine, fine," the young man was saying, "we'll just use salt until Maha comes back with some sugar, all right?"

Pa Missmoosh threw up his hands in frustration, just in time to meet his newest employee. "You! Where's your name tag?"

"Heh?"

Pa Missmoosh dug a paper label out of his pocket and tossed it at her. "Go tidy the tables." He disappeared out of a side door.

"Where's a pen?" Zetta asked.

"Here." The man tossed a pencil from the sink over to her. He had gray eyes, dark brown skin and a pony tail. He was dressed in blue jeans with a yellow tee shirt that read KURURU LIVES!

Zetta scribbled out something that looked more like_ Zttu _than anything else, pried off the wax paper and stuck the label on her chest. When she looked up, the young man had presented his hand. "Hey. I'm Azu."

Zetta shook. "I'm Zetta."

"We're glad to have you. Pa's been running us off our feet to keep this place going. Heh, we're down to our ankles." He smiled and leaned back against the sink.

Zetta gave him a cursory smile. She didn't want to get involved with anything right now, not even a friendly conversation. "Then I'd better go tidy the tables."

"Guess so," Azu said resignedly. He turned back to the sink. "Hey, you ate yet?"

Zetta compressed her lips. "Will I sound absolutely pathetic if I tell you I haven't eaten since yesterday morning?"

"There's some leftover couscous in the fridge. You can eat that stuff in five seconds, trust me. Grab a straw and suck really hard."

Xxxxxxxxxx

After sucking, Zetta got a clean paper towel and spent the next few minutes giving cursory scrubs over the twenty five tables and booths, spent a few more minutes hunting up the paper table cloths, adorning the tables, making sure every last one had its salt shaker, its pepper shaker, its ketchup bottle, its assorted sweeteners, the curry, and the mustard.

The dining room had a window that opened into the kitchen. On its shelf, amid the three inch clutter of paper, was a little blue twelve-inch TV screen with bunny ear antennae. "Hey, couldja turn that on?" Azu asked from where he was flipping grilled pancake and bacon sandwiches.

"No cartoons," said an adamant voice at Zetta's thigh. She looked down at a small brown kid with big blue eyes. Behind this kid were three others, each a few years younger.

"No cartoons?"

"Right," he said.

"Okay, little Moozmoozies, what do you want to watch?"

"A soap opera!" piped up the three year old.

The oldest -a boy -sniffed. "The news."

Zetta looked over at Azu. "The news okay?"

"Yeah," he said, scraping a stray pancake off the wall and flipping it back onto the griddle. "Channel 8."

As five o'clock came and went, Ma Missmoosh and her oldest daughter Maha scooted in with bags of groceries. "No sugar," Maha puffed. "I got baking powder instead."

While Azu was shouting about baking powder, Zetta sprayed the chairs with disinfectant. When she got back to the kitchen, Azu and Maha were arguing about Maha's latest boyfriend (Maha was a pretty girl, though her dyed pink hair didn't do much for her), and the TV caught Zetta's eye. Using one hand, she twitched the screen towards her.

It was a shot from a traveling camera, moving down a highway and scoping across the building tops at some rapidly moving figures. The bright red lettering across the bottom of the screen read: DEMON ATTACK IN NEW BLACKCASTLE.

Zetta had just leaned forward to get a closer look at the running figures before the screen flashed back to the news studio and its manicured anchorwoman. "-the footage shot at one-thirty this morning. Mana scholars at the site confirm the traces of non-human spells. Police stations are being flooded with thousands of reports of demon sightings, too many to possibly be verified. Meanwhile, no trace has been found of Lyr Miakoda or Dacia Vu. The people of New Blackcastle are still awaiting a statement from the President. Meanwhile in sports, tragedy occurs among the ranks of the National Flamingo Racers as-"

"Hey, anything more about that?" Zetta wanted to know.

Azu glanced over. "Maybe in the paper. You got family in New Blackcastle?"

Lacking anything approaching an answer, Zetta gave him a vague smile. She was aware that there were multiple universes, and most of them were undetected by humans. Human science had charted three separate human worlds but was still trying to find a way to pass among them. The only beings that could really world-hop with any sort of ease were angels and demons. There was one angelic universe -Celestia- where (humans hoped) they might be lucky enough to go when they died. Then there were myriads of Netherworlds, the realms of demons. The Underworld, or hell, was considered a Netherworld because it was ruled by demons. But hell was the only Netherworld humans could expect to enter.

Zetta also knew that there had been a few demon invasions in the distant past, mainly by individuals or very small groups. It was common knowledge that the most pathetic demon in hell was still several times stronger than a human, and that demons had access to Mana levels humans couldn't even dream of.

As for angels, they didn't really go in for that whole world-invasion thing.

"Have there been any other invasions recently?" Zetta asked.

"Hard to say," Maha said, cleaning a glass. After a moment, she handed Zetta a glass and a cloth too. "I mean, wackos are always claiming stuff, so it's hard to know the real thing when you hear it."

"Those figures on the building were really fuzzy," Zetta commented. "They probably could've been humans."

"But then why would people have been panicking?"

"Because," Ma Missmoosh said, "it's six fifteen and we don't even have all of our puffy bread baked yet!"

Xxxxxxxxxx

For the first time in thirteen days (unless it was fourteen), Zetta attempted to sit on her bed in the Mumtaaz Apartments.

Gingerly, she lowered her backside. Her backside continued to lower, hitting the bed's metal framework with barely an inch of resistance. After a bit of prodding, she decided the mattress was basically packing foam wrapped in, yes, gift paper. With a pattern of little dancing monkeys with bright pink lollypops. There were two blankets, a threadbare sheet and an even more threadbare coverlet. The pillow also seemed to be stuffed with packing foam.

The floor, Zetta decided, was actually very comfortable, all things considered.

At least there hadn't been the tide of bedbugs that she'd been dreading. Once again, she was dressed in her dishdasha (her waitress uniform was busy soaking in the sink; the Mumtaaz had running water, but it came only sporadically; Zetta had bought three bars of soap, but she was reluctant to waste them on her clothes). Zetta took out took a small memo pad and a pen, two items she'd begged off of Azu.

It was late evening, Thursday, the one day Zetta didn't have to work all day. Her one chance all week to be alone and try to think.

So she wrote:

_What I know about me:_

_1) I was somebody, obviously. My outfit has real gold and silk on it. Maybe I was a very rich prostitute._

Zetta frowned. She'd wait until that was proved to be irrefutable fact before she dealt with it.

_2) I was found at the mouth of the Ishir River. The Ishir flows out of the Bay of Ghanal. The Bay area is largely uninhabited, due to the presence of rhuks. Some explorers go there in search of ancient artifacts._

_Was I an exotic performer on some sort of architect expedition?_

_I'll hope not._

_3) I have pale skin. My ancestry is largely northern._

_4) I have green eyes. This means I also have southern bloodline as well. Because of my skin color, it's probably back at least two generations._

_5) I remember being in a desert other than the Bet ilKarkadaam. The Bet is more badlands than desert. I remember sand so deep you could drown in it. So obviously, I remember a different desert. That shows I had the means to travel._

_6) I know how to kill someone. Every time I touch that dagger, I remember._

_7) I have a leather fetish._

Zetta smiled wryly over that. It had been a quirk that had surprised even her. She'd found the Oxyr Mall and gone walking inside to escape from the heat, flapping along in her enormous boots. A different pair of boots had caught her attention however. She admired the tall, triple-buckled, flat heeled boots for a while through the window, then gone inside the store to pass more time. Nobody had paid her any attention, so she'd pretended to browse. It was a leather goods store, shoes and boots and jackets and purses. She'd been admiring a soft white calfskin purse when a distinctive smell reached her nose. A leather smell, of course, but it had instantly attracted her attention. She'd walked over to a rack of leather jackets, running her hands across the soft supple hide. After a moment, she saw her hand was shaking slightly, but it stopped the moment she really noticed. She stood staring at her hand on the black leather for a minute, her skin showing almost white in contrast. Some emotion was prowling all through her, she didn't know what. She stayed calm, at least on the surface, keeping vague desperation at a distance. After a moment, she leaned close to the jacket and breathed in deeply.

Nothing happened. The prowling animal in her heart leapt, and she never felt it land. But nothing really happened.

_8) I can drive. Again, I must have had some access to money._

_9) I was saying "Zetta" over and over again. Nobody seems to react when I give my name, so probably it isn't a famous person, if indeed it is a person. If indeed Antiha and Kesh even heard me correctly. If indeed I was actually saying anything at all._

_10) I was covered in blood, horrible lacerations and burn marks. Bullets in my body, Antiha said. Wounds in fatal places. Blood coating my lips, meaning that I'd been bleeding internally, hemorrhaging. In other words, I shouldn't have lived. Yet I did, even thought Antiha didn't have any really effective means to cure me. My body just restored itself._

_Mana? But I don't feel any Mana presence inside me. Could someone have been curing me from long distance? No, because it's impossible. You need to be near the person you're curing._

_11) Somehow, I know that, even though I don't have any Mana._


	4. Chapter 4

4

"Hey, I'm glad you're coming."

"Yeah, Azu, just wait a moment -I'm about to walk out of these boots-"

Azu flashed a grin. "Ah, just leave 'em. No one will care if you're barefoot."

"And when I step on broken glass?"

"I'll carry you back."

"And I'll hit you."

Zetta left her boots back at the Mumtaaz but took the second-hand duffel bag she'd bought two weeks ago. Azu glanced inquiringly at it. He didn't know about the outfit, the gold, or the knife. He didn't even know about the amnesia. He had noticed though that Zetta was wearing her waitress' uniform outside of work hours.

"You been to the Summer Festival before?"

"No," Zetta answered, looking around with interest. So far, there wasn't any sign of broken glass, and her bare feet padded across the tarp quite comfortably. The festival had been set up in the main square of Azthayo City, stretching off down several side streets and entirely overwhelming the usually busy open markets. Zetta side-stepped a sword-swallower and ran her eye over a booth of green amber jewelry.

She turned and was glad Azu hadn't been watching her. He was a nice guy, a very nice guy as far as she knew him. When he'd invited her to accompany him to the fair, she'd been flattered and wary. If he was interested in a relationship, he'd have to wait awhile, about until the day she figured out who she was. If then.

Still, he was nice guy, Zetta thought, admiring his easy manner (today's tee shirt was yellow with the words _Marjoly is My Love_ written in black block letters across the left shoulder).

They had a very good time. Around midnight, Azu had gone back to get his fifth cotton candy and had finally coaxed Zetta to try it. Just as she was about to take a bite, the nearby fire-eater had a sudden coughing jag.

And Azu's beautiful black ponytail went right up in flames. He went hopping and whooping, whirling and whirring, reeling and keeling, doing some sort of tribal war dance while beating furiously at his head. "Water! Dammit, water!" People were running for water. Zetta was staring, watching the flames rippling across his hair, bright banners against the night. Zetta's heart felt like it had snapped its moorings, was floating uneasily in her chest towards her throat.

_I remember -I remember -_

_I remember some chump's head being on fire?_

_No, I - I-_

"Water!" Azu screamed.

_I want-_

"For the love of-"

And just then an enormous icicle shot down from the sky onto Azu.

Xxxxxxxxx

"I'm sorry," Igrayne NicElyn said for the fourth time. "But that fire was about to do some pretty major damage, and I figured a Giga Ice would do the job better than anything else."

"Azu, just be grateful she didn't cast an Omega Ice," Zetta commented wryly. She looked up to find Ms NicElyn eyeing her sharply. Then in a moment, the sorceress had turned back to Azu.

Azu was sitting in the first aid tent, letting his freshly singed scalp be lathered in ointment by a tut-tutting nurse. He swallowed. "Thank you, Ms NicElyn. Hey, it's pretty much an honor to be blasted by the likes of you, right?"

It was Zetta's turn to glance sharply. _She's famous? Hm, I wish I could feel her Mana presence._

Igrayne NicElyn was a northerner, that much was obvious, with short red hair and cool gray eyes. She was middle-aged, probably somewhere in her fifties, with angular features and well-weathered skin. She was dressed in a faded blue sweat suit, and nobody had recognized her until she'd given her name. Zetta was itching to ask why this woman was famous.

"You haven't heard of me?" Ms NicElyn asked, apparently reading Zetta's expression to the last letter. She snorted. "That's a relief."

"Whuh-?" Azu's eyes widened. "Wait, didn't you see that spell she cast?"

Zetta frowned. "Yeah. It was a Giga Ice."

"_Yeah_. A _Giga _Ice. Ms NicElyn's about the only known-sorceress that can cast up to Giga level. She's famous!"

Zetta frowned. _She's famous for casting a Giga level? What the hell, Giga level isn't hard._

When Zetta turned back to Ms NicElyn, she had a sudden suspicion that her last thought had also been interpreted across her face. After the briefest flash of shame, Zetta lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. _Well, it's true._

Ms NicElyn turned briskly away from Zetta and held out her hand. "How are you doing, young man? What's your name?"

He shook. "Azu Missmoosh."

She nodded. "And you?" And she held out her hand.

Zetta also shook. "Zetta Xxxxxxxxxx."

Ms NicElyn raised her eyebrows. "What an interesting surname."

"It's from the deep south," Zetta averred. "It means 'one who affixes slabs of metal to the feet of horses'."

Ms NicElyn looked back and forth between the two. "So, you two were just here on a date, and his head caught on fire? Not very auspicious, I guess."

"Oh, well..." Azu frowned. "Hey, Zetta, are we on a date?" Zetta shrugged. "Well, yeah," Azu went on, gingerly touching his scalp and wincing, "it's not very auspicious."

"At least your dad won't be going on at you to wear a hair net," Zetta pointed out.

"Eh... true..."

Ms NicElyn grinned. "Ah, you're a cook. And, I'll guess-" She ran her eye along Zetta. "You're a waitress. Just got off work?"

"Sort of," Zetta said.

"Well, I'm sorry about what happened, young Azu, but I'm glad I was there. Now I have to get going; my husband doesn't have a clue where I am. Pleased to meet both of you." And just like that, she was out of the tent.

"Ow," Azu moaned, for the first time. "Oh owowowowowOW. That stings."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Somehow, Zetta wasn't surprised the next morning when she saw that Igrayne NicElyn had dropped in to have breakfast at the Alfar ilMissmoosh diner. But she was suspicious. Holding her notepad in front of her almost defensively, she made her way to the booth where the most powerful sorceress on earth was studying the menu.

"Good morning, what can I get you today?" Zetta rattled off.

Ms NicElyn smiled up, her expression not registering recognition. "I'll have a honey and pecan waffle and a cup of red tea, thank you."

In ten minutes, Zetta was back with her breakfast. She was just about to turn away towards another table when Ms NicElyn cleared her throat and said, "I'd also like to know about the spell Omega Ice."

Caught off guard, Zetta half-turned back to her and was still a moment. Then she collected herself. "Omega's the highest level for your standard elemental spells."

"It delivers the most punch?"

"To a large target area, yes. But if you want a more powerful, concentrated attack, you cast at Mega level."

"Oh? Mega?"

"Yes."

"And where did you learn this?"

Under her uniform, goosebumps rippled across Zetta's shoulders. "I -don't know. I guess I read it in a book somewhere."

NicElyn shook her head. "You couldn't have, unless it was some fantasy novel. Because the study of Mana is two and a half thousand years old, and there isn't any level higher than Giga."

Zetta curled her lip. "Of course there are. I've seen-" Zetta's words broke off. Cold radiated down her spine. _I've seen them? When? Where?_

"When?" NicElyn demanded. "Where?"

"I..."

"_Well_?"

Zetta closed her mouth and turned her troubled eyes away from the sorceress.

"This is so interesting," NicElyn said, leaning her chin on her plaited fingers. "When do you get off from work? May I speak with you?"

Zetta moved on to the next table, where a young mother was sitting with two twins. "Good morning, what can I get for you today?"

Xxxxxxxxxx

NicElyn was back for brunch (couscous with butter and bacon bits), and lunch (goat-cheese pastry-pockets with olive oil) and dinner (ground mutton on flatbread with cheese and eggplant), and around eleven thirty at night, she dropped in again for some coffee and sugar-dipped dough balls. Zetta was long past fraying at the edges; she seemed to be all fray at this point. She slammed the dough-balls on NicElyn's table and went off to a booth full of policemen with a little relief. Sure, they tried to get her to sit on their laps and made grabs for her skirt hem, but at least they didn't care about Mana. In the end, she simply out-waited NicElyn, who left at two-thirty, casting Zetta a narrow stare. Zetta didn't see the sorceress again for a while.


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Ooo," said Maha. "He's hot."

Azu glanced over. "What? You go for that type?"

"Mrowr," said Maha.

"Little girl," Azu said, flipping a pancake onto his sister's head, "you need to go find yourself some taste."

Zetta glanced out the window. "He's coming in. Great, another customer."

"I'll take his order," Maha declared, prying the pancake out of her hair.

"Nuh-uh," Pa Missmoosh said. "No way. You're too good for that boy. Zetta, go take his order."

Zetta walked over to where the young man had sprawled in his booth. He was good looking, okay, but too young, Zetta decided. She preferred men to boys any day. She flipped open her notepad. "Good afternoon, welcome to Mashamoo's, what can I get you to drink?"

The young man, who'd been staring intently out the window, turned to look up at her. He was thin and lanky with spiked blue-green hair that nearly covered his face like a mop. He'd even gone the extra mile and dyed his eyebrows to match. He picked up the menu. "Yeah, I guess I'll have a root beer."

"Sure, I'll be back in a minute."

At the soda fountain, Maha sidled up. "What's he like?"

"He's thirsty."

When Zetta came back, she found the guy staring out the window again, his eyes sweeping up and down the length of the street outside. For Maha's benefit, Zetta cataloged his clothes: red sneakers, oversized blue jeans, an orange tee shirt (that read _Ignore Past Settings, Dood_), and, of all things, ear muffs. Zetta stared at the earmuffs a moment. They were white, fluffy and had little penguins stitched on the sides. After a moment, she realized the penguins were holding knives.

She put his soda down. "And what can I get you to eat?"

"Hmmm." He studied the menu a moment. "I will have a tuna salad sandwich on pita bread and a side of fluffy fries."

"Sure."

Back in the kitchen, Maha sidled up. "What's he like?"

"His ears are cold."

Maha's eyes blazed. "You fondled his ears!"

"Whoa," said Azu, eyes wide, "that's _definitely_ against employee policy!"

After explaining, Zetta came back with the sandwich and fries. The guy was watching the window. He turned to her when she put the food down.

"Hey-" he said suddenly, frowning at her.

Zetta was instantly on her guard. "Yes?"

The guy was staring narrowed-eyed at her. "You -hey, could you humor me and pull your hair back for just a moment?"

That request was pretty tame in comparison to some other requests Zetta had received. Deciding that if he wanted to ogle her neck and ears for a second, she didn't really care, Zetta obliged.

"Snap," the young man breathed. "Oh snap. Finally! Hey, but why're you playing dumb?"

Zetta's face went blank. She released her hair, letting it swish back against her neck and shoulders.

"Hey, c'mon, you gotta recognize me. My disguise ain't that good." He flipped a finger under one of his ear muffs and pulled it to one side.

Zetta's eyes widened.

His ear was pointed.

"Don't say anything," this guy said quickly. "Just hold on a moment." He was pulling out a cell phone, dialing with one thumb. "Man, this is great. Don't worry, we'll drop by Zetta's right away." Tucking the phone under the ear muff, he said, "Hey, Drake, guess what, you aren't going to believe this-"

Whoever this strange boy was, Zetta didn't want to go anywhere with him and find out. She screamed at the top of her lungs.

"I-" the boy said. "...Djuh...hold on a moment, Drake."

"What's wrong?" Azu demanded, running in. He had a spatula in one hand and a steak knife in the other.

"He-" Zetta's brain wasn't working. "He threatened me. He tried to put his hand up my skirt."

"TchaWHAT?" expostulated the boy. There was the sound of someone speaking rapidly at the other end of his phone.

"Hey, you," Azu said, coming forward with knife. "Get up. Get going. You ain't allowed to harass the waitresses until after ten o'clock!"

"Hey, I didn't-"

"There are little kids in this diner!" Azu foamed, brandishing his spatula in the direction of a children's birthday party. "You trying to expose them to your sicko impulses? Now, c'mon, shove out fast, or I'll make you flip like a flapjack!"

"Eh..." The guy frowned and seemed to gauge his options. His eyes lingered darkly on Zetta a moment. "Shut up, Drake," he said into the phone. "I'll talk to you later. Yeah, yeah, I'll be over in a second." He stood up, hands in his pockets. He snorted. "Gog, like I'd put my hand up your skirt, bitch." He stalked out the door and was instantly lost in the crowded street.

"Fresh punk," Azu muttered, picking up the tuna on pita bread and taking a healthy bite out of it.

Xxxxxxxxxx

_12) Some kid with pointy ears seemed to recognize me. He was talking to someone named Drake. He said we'd go to "Zetta's place"_

_Zetta._

_I don't remember any of it._

_Do I feel like I should?_

Xxxxxxxxxx

"Do talk to me," NicElyn said.

Zetta stopped in the process of slamming her door shut. The sorceress had found her Mumtaaz room and hammered on her door for five minutes. Zetta had gone to deliver an elegantly worded cuss out before slamming said door when she paused.

Zetta was exhausted.

The "fresh punk" had accosted her only two days ago, and they'd been two days spent in furiously abusing what little memory Zetta still had. She knew that you couldn't push memories; push memories too hard and you'd end up snapping them clean apart. Zetta was up all night it seemed, staring at the knife, staring at the mysterious outfit, remembering the young man's face, repeating "Drake" and "Zetta" until she thought she'd go insane. Because if this kid was out in the world looking for her, it meant she was somebody. Somebody this kid wanted to find. And what did that mean?

The next time she saw that little punk, Zetta wanted to know why.

And now NicElyn was here, wanting a heart-to-heart. The sorceress obviously thought she knew something. At this point, Zetta realized she wanted to know what.

"Talk."

NicElyn nodded and stepped past her into the room. Today the sorceress was dressed in black jeans with a floral pink tee shirt and sneakers. "What I want to know," NicElyn started, striding around the meager room, "is how you know about these 'higher level' spells."

Zetta blanked out her face.

"You say you've seen them," NicElyn pressed._ "Where?"_

Zetta clicked her teeth together. "May I ask a question?"

Maybe NicElyn's fingers clenched for just a moment. "Go ahead."

"Where do you suspect I learned them?"

NicElyn was brought up short. Then she exhaled through her nose and half-smiled, though her eyes remained distant. "I see neither of us wants to say it."

Zetta looked away. "No. I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

NicElyn drew a deep breath. "It's a well-documented fact that demons and angels cast higher level Mana than humans can."

Pointed ears.

_Come on. You gotta recognize me._

Deliberately, Zetta tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear, taking a moment to run her finger along its smoothly round edge. "I'm not a demon. And I don't have any wings, so I can't be an angel."

"Oh, I have no doubts that you're a human." NicElyn folded her arms. Her eyes were decidedly hostile at this point. "However, the recent attacks on New Blackcastle -and the discovery of you- have me a little concerned."

Zetta burst out laughing. She half sounded like a maniac, but she couldn't believe it. "You think a diner waitress helped orchestrate a demon attack -how many miles away? On a different continent?"

NicElyn's eyes narrowed. "You do make it sound like an impossibility. But the logic follows through. There was a recent attack by demons on humans. There's a human who's seen demon-level spells being cast."

Zetta shook her head. "No. There isn't logic in your argument. You can't assume that I had anything to do with it. After all, you said I might've just gotten the names from a fantasy book. And even if they are real spells, you can't blame me until you have concrete evidence that I was part of it. That, my dear, is logic. Now, I let you in thinking you might actually have something useful to tell me, but as you don't-"

"Which is it!" NicElyn shouted. "Are these spells real or not? Do you believe they're real?"

Zetta frowned. _Yes. Yes, I do. But does that mean I learned them from demons? How?_

_Why?_

"You should know," Zetta said, "that I'm an amnesiac."

It was NicElyn's turn to laugh.

"Well, if you don't want to listen to the answers I _can_ give you, just leave."

NicElyn's eyebrow twitched.

"I was recovered two months ago. I really don't know anything about myself. So maybe I had everything in the world to do with that attack, but I don't remember any of it. All right? Happy?"

NicElyn pursed her lips. "If you're telling the truth... there are ways to recover memories."

Zetta snorted. "And sometimes they do more damage than good. No way. Not me."

"Where were you found?"

Zetta sighed. "As short as it is, I really don't want to tell you my life story."

NicElyn bit her lip. "Do you mind if I test you for Mana?"

Zetta had a sudden memory of being frightened, desperate, on the floor, watching a white light pulse around someone's hand. She sucked in her breath, trying to hold onto the memory, cage it up so she could study it. She closed her eyes, trying to look past the glowing fist, look for a face, a setting, a-

Zetta thought she could almost hear the snap as the memory broke apart.

"Go ahead," she said flatly.

NicElyn placed her hand on Zetta's. After a moment, she took her hand away. "Nothing. You don't have a trace in you."

"I knew that."

"I've- I've never heard of demons or angels teaching humans, let alone just showing off their Mana to humans for fun... No. You can't be telling the truth. What's really going on?"

Zetta sighed, exhausted again. "That's the funny thing: I _am_ telling the truth. Or... I'm telling you what I think is the truth."

NicElyn bared her teeth. Zetta had the distinct feeling that she was making things impossible.

"Well. What's clear enough," NicElyn said, "is that you have Mana knowledge but no skills to back it up. You're making outrageous statements you can't -or refuse to- corroborate."

"Yes, and I already knew that."

There was a spark of light in NicElyn's left eye. "You're aren't going to cooperate with me?"

Zetta put her hands behind her back, to keep them from shaking with anger. "I've cooperated as much as I possibly can. Now will you just go?"

NicElyn watched her. Then she said, "I'm a good friend of Parselle Cole."

"How sweet. Get out."

"You haven't heard of Mr. Cole?"

"You haven't heard of amnesia?"

"He certainly has." NicElyn crossed her arms. "He's a mage, like me. But he specializes in curative Mana. Particularly in biological signatures."

Zetta looked away.

"Not only could he give us information about your DNA, he's also delved into psyche Mana. The Mana of the mind. I don't mean just hypnosis or electrotherapy either. I mean curing the mind totally. Restoring it."

"You mean bargaining."

"Right."

"And how soon before you arrest me? On no charges whatsoever?"

She wagged her finger. "See, I can't do that. I have a lot to lose if I get involved in a legal morass like that. So you see, we both have whips to hold over each other."

"And isn't it just so interesting that you're willing to trust me?"

"I'm desperate, for one thing. But-" Her eyes glittered. "As impossible as you are, I can't really see that you're lying." For the first time, her face registered the slightest shade of sympathy.

Zetta looked quickly away from her. "So...what on earth do you want me to do before you pay my way back into mental health?" Memories were whirling in the corners of her mind, too fast to catch.

"I want you to come with me. I want to study you, and I want to parse out what you know. If you have any connections to the demons, I need to know them."

Zetta's anger flared. "For how long?"

NicElyn compressed her lips. "I'm scheduled to be on vacation here for two more weeks. Then I and my husband fly home to New Blackcastle. Parselle lives in Windchester which, if you don't know, is about two hours from New Blackcastle by plane. I shouldn't have any trouble getting you there within two and a half weeks."

"And then that's it? No more studying?"

"That's right."

"And you pay?"

"Right."

"And I trust you because...?"

NicElyn laughed. "That's something you get to come up with yourself."

The memories slowed down for just a moment before they sped up again. _I don't trust her. But I need to get out of here, I need to find things out. I'll go along with this for now._

Zetta walked over to her bed and picked up her bag. She turned to face NicElyn. "All packed."


	6. Chapter 6

6

Igrayne NicElyn wasted no time. Her rental car was parked in front of the Mumtaaz, and only after Zetta had paid up her bill, walked across the small parking lot, and buckled herself in did she hear Igrayne give a sigh of relief.

"Hey."

Igrayne turned towards her as she jerked her key into the ignition.

"Do you know what a Makai Card is?"

Igrayne's left eyelid twitched.

Zetta looked out the window. "Just a thought."

Igrayne pulled out of the parking lot. She waited until they'd driven down several streets and merged into the heavier traffic before speaking again.

"'Makai' is one of the few words in the demonic tongue that we humans know."

Zetta raised her eyebrow.

"It's a word with several connotations. Apparently, some demons have been known to use it as slang for 'lunch meat'. But its literal meaning is 'ghost' or 'phantom'. Now-" She grimaced as they came to a red light. "Now, that word means different things too. A Makai could be a human ghost, for instance. But Makai can also refer to a lower-level demon."

Zetta frowned, lost in thought, staring into the hazy red light of the traffic signal. When it flashed to green, she gave a bit of a jump. "Levels?"

Igrayne eyed her sidelong. "If you don't know that there's a difference between an Overlord demon and a regular demon, we have to start from step one."

Zetta was watching the neon signs flash by. The warmth of the car was making her drowsy. "Are only demons Overlords?"

Igrayne gave her sharp look. "As far as we know. When humans go to the Underworld, well..." She huffed. "We don't know a lot about what happens to them. As for angels..." She shrugged. "They don't seem to be interested in the Netherworlds."

They'd hit the highway then. Zetta watched the continuous stream of headlights, beside her and in the distance and arcing above her in the near overpass like a nest of glittering vipers.

"Do you remember how you know the word Makai?"

"Just Makai Cards. They start cars." Zetta was suddenly on alert. She turned towards the sorceress. "So now you'll be convinced I've spent time with demons?"

"I'm already convinced. However..."

Zetta narrowed her eyes. "However?"

"You admit to having amnesia. I'm pretty sure that, well, whatever happened, you were a victim."

Zetta suddenly went cold. "A victim?"

Igrayne stared resolutely ahead. "I can only guess. Maybe they were... I don't know, experimenting on you-"

"Why would they have to?" Zetta asked, voice strangely detached and quiet. "I mean, if they have all the humans in the Underworld."

"Maybe there's some biological differences between this life and the next."

"But that's not what you were thinking."

Igrayne sighed. "You _are_ very beautiful."

Zetta looked out the window.

Igrayne went on. "Demons aren't known for their love of aesthetics. But then, they aren't known for their restraint either. It strikes me as very possible that a lower level demon could've kidnapped you, terrorized you with his Mana and, after having his way with you, left you as an amnesiac."

_I was found covered in blood,_ Zetta thought with a rattling wave of fear. _But no. No. They were bullet wounds and slashes, not-_

_Still-_

_I-_

_How can I know if I wasn't-_

_I-_

_I-_

_I think I'm going to scream._

She reached into her bag and gripped the hilt of her dagger. Hard.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Zetta felt like a sleepwalking zombie by the time Igrayne pulled into her hotel parking lot. Zetta blinked up the seven stories, at the stacks of alternating light and dark windows, the wide balconies. "Posh. I'll settle for the bathroom."

"We have two rooms," Igrayne said, unbuckling her seat belt. "That is, the suite came with a bed room, a living room and a bathroom. I'm sure you won't mind sleeping on the couch."

"Glad to know it." Zetta got out of the car, feeling the cool desert wind trickling across her neck._ Hm, that's right...I'm going to have to get this uniform back to Pa Missukumish. And the boots. Somehow._

Zetta followed Igrayne into the painfully bright lobby, only glancing at the marble countertops and columns and potted palms. In another moment, they were in an elevator.

They stared at each other.

"We'll see the doctor tomorrow," Igrayne said. "And get you some new clothes."

Zetta didn't answer.

"May I see what's in the bag?"

"Later," Zetta lied.

_Ding_, chimed the elevator.

Igrayne led her down a lavender and periwinkle hallway to door 706. She punched a code into the small consul by the handle, so quickly that Zetta almost didn't catch it. Operative word being "almost". Zetta took a moment to repeat the sequence 2-7-7-1-9-7-3 to herself.

Igrayne opened the door and flicked on a light. They were in a spacious sitting room that opened onto a balcony that overlooked the Gulf of Usalka. Zetta blinked again, trying to accustom her eyes to the bright lights and night-black windows.

"Here," Igrayne was saying wearily. "You can sleep on this." She pointed to the long, purple fainting-couch by the balcony. "I'll get a blanket from the other room."

After wishing her good night, Igrayne left Zetta alone. Zetta sat on the fainting-couch and studied the room. Nice. Moderately fancy. The wildly patterned carpet was quality, as far as replications went. The fake flowers were nice too, giving off chemical perfume. The couch was comfy with soft pillows, the blanket big and fluffy. Zetta sighed and looked out to the balcony.

Zetta was exhausted. But for some reason, she got up and went onto the balcony. She leaned her elbows against the railing and strained her eyes towards the sky.

_There's too much light. I can hardly see any stars._

A great longing overcame her._ For what? The stars?_

The city threw its lurid veil over the night's perfect blackness. The moon was a tiny fang-bite in the sky, a tiny sliver of bone. The stars were blurry.

_I've seen better skies._

_I'm just too close to these stupid city lights._

Zetta toyed with the knife. Then she jumped. When had she picked it up? She must have been handling it in her bag...?

Zetta ran her fingers along the smooth bone hilt. Bone was best; its porous nature absorbed blood and never allowed the hilt to become slippery. But this was more than just bone. It was almost like ivory. Her fingers traveled up the hilt to the pommel, which was set with a gold ankh. The symbol of immortality.

Zetta angled the knife in her right hand, shifting it comfortably against her palm. She felt her muscles settle back into a familiar fighting posture. She rotated her wrist, watching the long straight blade glory in the lamplight.

Zetta clambered off the balcony railing in alarm. What had happened? How had she gotten up there? Why had she been about to jump off?

Because, she'd wanted to feel the wind rushing past her, wanted the sensation of banking and soaring and being in absolute control of her own gravity.

_What on earth?_

But she couldn't deny it.

Her body was remembering the sensation of flight.

_Maybe I fell off a cliff and bumped my head. That would explain my amnesia._

No, that didn't explain anything.

She remembered flying, as clearly as she remembered fighting.

And she remembered different skies, darker, sharper. Closer.

Zetta touched her face. A tear had slid from her left eye and was dangling on the edge of her jaw. Angrily, Zetta jerked her head and felt the drop splash on her shoulder. _Stop it! Why are you crying? Why are you crying over something you don't even remember?_

_Shut up. This isn't your mind crying. This is your body crying._

Xxxxxxxxx

Zetta carefully opened her eyes the next morning. Even before she'd come entirely awake, she'd sensed that someone else was in the room.

Oh. This must be Mr. Igrayne NicElyn.

A middle-aged man with a bald head and an explosive blonde beard was sitting at the far end of the room, poring over a thick leather book with a magnifying glass. He was dressed in khakis and a collared blue shirt, and Zetta just knew he was a professor.

She sat up and cleared her throat.

The man leaned a bit closer to his book.

"Pardon me."

"Eh?" he said in a gruff voice. "Yes, dear, yes, I'll be on it right away."

Zetta smiled slightly. Then she kicked away the coverlet. _I wonder if he knows I was even scheduled to arrive? _She got up and walked barefoot across the carpet to his side. She glanced down at the book.

"_BLAWST!" howled Lord Lirion, biting down on his iron-spiked mace to assuage the pain. "Zounds, but thawt did 'urt! Djoo really be thinkin joo were gonna get away with that?"_

_But Stigma, the Black Queen, the Mistress of Shadows, merely laughed at the uncouth coot. "Did you really think you could save your Netherworld, Lirion?"_

"Some fantasy novel?" Zetta asked.

Mr. NicElyn jumped. "Heh?" He glanced up. "Hoh! Oh -you must be Miss Xxxxxxxxxx."

"That's right."

"I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't uh, see you-" He blinked, seeming to get an eyeful of Zetta all at once. Zetta looked down at herself. She was in the _dishdasha_, for pity's sake.

Zetta diverted his attention back to the tome. "What is that?"

"Heh?" He glanced down at the book. "Oh, this?"

"Yeah. It sounds like some cheap novel."

Mr. NicElyn raised his eyebrows.

"Ah," Zetta suddenly realized. "I wasn't supposed to be able to read that, was I?"

Mr. NicElyn bounced up out of his chair excitedly. "It's in the demonic script -one of the few books we've been able to steal. From my own private collection! You can really read this?"

Zetta glanced at the cover. To her, clear as day, ran the words _Desire, Zeal and Lust: a Love Story_. "It's a cheap novel."

Mr. NicElyn's eager eyebrows leveled off. "Is it really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." He frowned. "All these years, we've been thinking it was their code of law."

Zetta came close to hooting. "Demons? Laws?"

He shrugged. "They could have some. Regarding blood feuds. But if it's really a novel, as you say..."

Zetta flipped to the first page and scanned the initial three paragraphs. "Trust me."

"Oh... Still..." He squared his shoulders. "It's not such a loss. After all, it should be indicative of their culture...such as demonic culture is. Er, would you mind translating it?"

Xxxxxxxxxx

Igrayne came into the sitting room fifty minutes later to see Zetta curled up on the couch with Mr. NicElyn sitting on the chair opposite, listening intently as Zetta read:

"_Stigma didn't know what to do. Though nightly she longed for Vector's touch, she had already been promised to King Lirion. 'I can never be away from you,' Stigma tearfully wrote her demon love. "I can never forget the nights we spent under the blood-oozing hawthorns while the vampires were screeching in the valley. Promise me that-'"_

Igrayne cleared her throat. "Ready to see the doctor?"

Zetta's heart kicked her chest. Yes, she wanted to see the doctor, yes, she wanted to find out everything about herself if it were at all possible. And yes, she was afraid. "Can I shower first?"

Igrayne checked her watch. "Ten minutes. We'll eat after you're examined."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Forty minutes later, Zetta was sitting on a plastic-wrapped padded bench and wearing nothing but a paper tunic that didn't close at the sides. She had her hands gripping in each other hard. _I do not...I _do not_ remember undergoing anything as humiliating as _this_ before._

Doctor Hazo came back in with the results of Zetta's tests. She was a middle aged healer mage dressed in white. "Well," she said, as crisp as her uniform, "this is what we _do_ know. First of all, you were not raped."

Zetta tried not to be too obvious about her sigh of relief.

"Secondly, you are twenty-four years old. Oh yes, and you're also female."

"How good to know."

"Regarding these wounds you spoke of-" (Zetta had reluctantly admitted that she'd sustained some damage before being rescued) "-we could find absolutely no hint of them. No scars, no abrasions, no strains. We also found no trace elements of Mana on you anywhere. Of course, you were wounded two months ago. If you were healed by Mana, it's too long ago for us to tell."

"Hm."

"As for your amnesia..." She leafed through the paper. "Again, we found no sign of any cranial trauma. In fact-" The papers rustled as she flipped through them again. "There isn't any physical sign of damage." She looked up. "I think your best bet might be a psychologist."

Zetta frowned scornfully.

Dr. Hazo took that in stride. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that repression isn't healthy. You're living the damage yourself."

Zetta's frown deepened. _I wish I _had_ something to repress._

"Moving on, we did find something interesting. Flex your arm, dear."

Zetta obeyed.

"Did you see that?"

"No."

"Do it again." When Zetta did, Dr. Hazo caught her upper arm between her finger and thumb. "Feel that? Taut as a violin string. You have some considerable muscle tone under that skin."

Zetta studied the smooth white curve of muscle along her arm.

"Your musculature is centered on your arms, your back and your chest. I'd say you were a weight lifter but..." Her professionalism broke, and she gave a nervous chortle. Then she was business again. "Yes, anyway. You have some muscle tone in your thighs and calves, but most of your strength comes from your upper body. That's unusual for a woman."

_But not for a knife-fighter. Tell me, Doctor, do the tests say anything about flying?_

Of course not.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Forty minutes later, Zetta was given a clean bill of health, let back into her dishdasha, and she and Igrayne made their way out of the building complex that housed the doctor's office. Igrayne was poring over the doctor's report. "Very interesting," was all she said.

Zetta sighed wearily. "I'm hungry."

Igrayne looked up, still a bit lost in thought. "Oh, sure. And we'll get you some clothes after breakfast."

They ended up at a diner (Alfar ilKazooky), sitting in a booth, eating some strange sort of scrambled eggs in pita bread.

Zetta was sick of talking about everything she didn't know about herself, so she opened the conversation. "You're here on vacation?"

"Mm," Igrayne replied, taking a sip of black coffee.

"Your husband is nice. What's his name?"

"Alfred."

"He studies demons?"

"He tries to. Ostensibly he's an anthropologist."

Zetta chewed her pita bread. "What do you think about New Blackcastle?"

"It's a nice place. Big. Loud. But nice."

"I meant the recent attacks. Has anyone found out whether or not they were really by demons?"

Igrayne finally looked interested. "Yes. They detected quite a few traces of Mana cast at superhuman levels. Maybe a-" Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe an Omega Ice or two."

Joke or not, Zetta refused to care. "They can cast much prettier things than Omega Ice."

Igrayne watched her shrewdly. "No doubt."

Xxxxxxxxx

Zetta forced herself to thank Igrayne later that morning as they walked away from the mall with three outfits for Zetta. Igrayne nodded. She herself didn't have much interest in fashion and had merely set Zetta on a budget. As soon as they returned to the hotel, Zetta locked herself in the bathroom, tore off her dishdasha and heaved it out the window (it landed on the hood of a passing car). Again dressed, Zetta studied herself in the mirror.

This was a nice outfit. She liked it. A simple, thick-strapped black tanktop and dark gray jeans that cut off a few inches below the knee. And a pair of knee high boots under that, black leather with two buckles up the sides. Very cute.

It didn't look right at all.

Zetta frowned, glanced at the harlot outfit in her duffel bag, and sighed. She crouched down and rummaged in the bag, hunting up all four of the long gold earrings. As a quartet, they pretty much overwhelmed her ears, but she left them in.

Zetta reached into her bag again. Her hand came away holding the knife.

What now?

Her jeans had two straps up the left thigh, a stylish reincarnation of the strap for a carpenter's hammer. Yes, her knife could fit through those hooks.

_No_, she couldn't go walking around with a knife visible on her thigh. It didn't even have a sheath.

No point in strapping it on underneath her jeans. And hiding it down the front of her shirt wouldn't be much better.

_Just keep it in the bag. You're not going to need it._

Zetta remembered the pointy-haired guy in the diner.

_Please, you're probably just deluding yourself. You can't knife-fight anyway._

Zetta flexed her upper arm. Her smooth muscle arched under her skin.

"Please. Just use your Mana to hide the knife, of course. Didn't I teach you better than that?" a male voice said in her head.

Zetta shook herself. A memory? Yes -it had to be? Right? _Right?_

Just as she thought she might be about to figure it out, Igrayne rapped her knuckles on the other side of the bathroom door. "You alive in there?"

_I almost was_, Zetta thought, suddenly bleak as she dropped the knife back into the bag.

When Zetta walked out of the bathroom, the four earrings caught the noon sunlight and blinded Igrayne for a moment. "We didn't buy you those."

"Nope," Zetta replied smoothly. "So," she said, fixing her eyes on Alfred NicElyn, "what have you learned about demons today?"


	7. Chapter 7

7

The Ajhara Waste stretched to either side of the car windows, only punctuated by a darker tan road that ran under the thick blue sky.

"Not much traffic," Igrayne observed. "But then, they don't try to make it a tourist attraction. Still, I hope you'll enjoy yourself."

Zetta shrugged. Alfred was lecturing at the local university, and even being alone with Igrayne for the two-hour drive was better than being alone in the hotel room, staring at the knife. She sighed and leaned back against the car seat. "Tell me more about the Sacred Confine."

"Well, it's an ancient place. It's always been here. The idea was that if you had what it took to join, you'd find your way across the waste. Or, if you really needed to get rid of an undesirable daughter, you'd find her a way across the waste. It's the same principle for the Samurai Temple. They're really only about twenty miles apart."

"Hm."

"That's why the Brave War started the way it did. When King Fehran razed the Sacred Confine, Heketsu -the Samurai General- immediately rallied his men to conduct a reprisal. And out of that came the war that changed the world. Of course, after the war, one of the first things Lord Gar did was order that the Sacred Confine be rebuilt on its original location. And, after a thousand years, it's still standing. They say the spirits of Lord Gar and Lord Seedle still guard it. And they say the soul of Salome the Traitor is still bound in burning chains under its high altar."

"Hm," Zetta said.

Igrayne glanced at her sidelong. "Not into history?"

"I'm an amnesiac."

Igrayne rolled her eyes. "Anyway, it's still operational as a temple, though there aren't many acolytes to be priestesses of the White Hand these days. A lot of it's a museum now, though they certainly don't encourage...casual visitors."

"No gift shop?"

"Not unless you're going to rip off a doorknob and take it home with you."

"What about the Samurai Temple?"

"Oh that? It's a ruin. The Age of the Samurai died with Lord Gar, that's something all but the truly delusional agree on. There are usually some fanatics camping there, every so often a convention or two, but no. Bushido's gone."

Zetta closed her eyes, trying to figure out why it sounded familiar. "Lord Gar...he led the Brave Party?"

"No, he was the second in command. Lord Seedle led the Brave Party. But when Salome killed him, Gar had to take over. He was the first king of the new age."

"And Salome was a...?"

"Sheesh. Did you flunk out of history? Salome was a traitor."

"A female samurai?"

Igrayne snorted. "No. Back then, women were generally only good for warming beds and scrubbing floors. And being powerful priestesses. That's what Salome was." Igrayne laughed slightly. "Historians say that the only human ever living that could rival her Mana power... is me."

Zetta raised an amused eyebrow. "If she couldn't cast beyond Giga, I'm not impressed."

"By most historical accounts, she was incredible," Igrayne said, a bit reverentially. "In the Battle of Ijir, she took out a whole wing of cavalry by herself. With Giga spells," Igrayne stressed, glancing at Zetta. "Of course, I'm sure you know that humans in general have a weaker Mana-resistance than demons, so Giga can definitely hurt the unprepared.

"Yes, Salome stood out. Her Mana was so useful to Lord Seedle that he kept her with him whenever possible. Of course, she was also very beautiful, by accounts. I've seen some contemporary portraits of her, and I think she's a bit plain myself. But you could absolutely say that she was one of the few truly influential women of her time."

Zetta snorted. "The samurais treated her as an equal?"

"Well, no," Igrayne admitted. "They hardly could, their society was so patriarchal. But she was important. There are several stories that show how protective Seedle and Gar were of her."

"But if she was a woman, how could she be influential?"

Igrayne frowned at her. "She was priestess. And eventually a war hero, though she never fought with anything other than Mana. What's more, she held a spiritual authority within the Party."

"So why'd she kill Seedle?"

Igrayne smirked. "You're asking the question historians have been mulling over for a millennium. All we know is that on the night the Brave Party took Azthayo City and ousted the king, Salome stabbed Seedle through the heart with his own dagger. She claimed he had tried to rape her. But the story made no sense whatsoever. She had been with the samurais for two years by then, and if any of them had bothered her before, she certainly hadn't killed them. Also, Seedle was a samurai noted for his honor and discipline. Gar insisted that he never would've forced himself on a woman, let alone Salome, and others of the Brave Party corroborated this. In the end though, her crime was obvious enough. She had killed the hero. They burned her at the stake the next morning."

"In Azthayo City?"

"Right."

"There's no marker."

"There is. The statue of Seedle in the great square. I guess to show that his spirit could live on beyond treachery."

"Hm," Zetta remarked, watching the sand dunes pass. "It's a bizarre story. To kill your own hero..."

"And on such a flimsy story. Historians suspect that the stress of war had altered her mind, and that she was eventually insane."

"Hm."

"Whatever the case, it was a pity. A gruesome ending to a fabulous story."

Zetta raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean? A war story? Or-" She frowned. "Did Lord Seedle love Salome?"

Igrayne stared over the steering wheel, off into the distance. "They say he did."

Xxxxxxxxxx

The Sacred Confine stood on a long crest of low rock cliffs that hunched out of the sand like a dragon's back. The temple was made of a dusty light sandstone with a twelve-foot thick outer wall and a six-foot thick inner wall. The temple was the only building; the priestess lived, worshipped and were buried within. Other than a large dome, it was unadorned.

In respect to the priestesses, Igrayne parked outside the outer wall and led Zetta under the first gate by foot. Only a few figures were outside, women dressed in long white robes with white veils, or gray-robed acolytes. Some of the priestesses carried large winged staffs that were as tall as themselves. Zetta glanced around with interest. The robes hadn't changed much, but none of the women were wearing any of the ceremonial sigils. Painted on a priestess' forehead, cheeks and throat, these silver runes invited the Goddess to speak through her. Zetta shrugged. Ah well, it would be interesting to see what the Confine looked like, now that it was rebuilt.

One of Igrayne's dear childhood friends had entered the Confine when she was thirteen years old. Only Igrayne was admitted to see her, so Zetta was left to stroll in the south wing of the temple, the designated "museum" area. She had, of course, been allowed nowhere near the priestess' living quarters or any of the shrines.

It was fairly sparse for a museum. Artifacts were mounted in glass cases along the otherwise bare wall, and there were a few plaques that gave their history. Zetta smiled a bit as she came to case that held some of the items that had survived the razing: a ceremonial dagger; an Oracle's pendant made to look like an open blue eye; a stone drinking cup.

Zetta moved to the next case. Now the Brave War figured largely, as it naturally would. This case held some ancient documents, wartime messages that had passed between the samurais and the priestesses. The priestesses of the White Hand were noncombatant, Zetta knew. Salome the Traitor had only been put into her militant role through circumstance. But the priestesses had used their spiritual authority to aid the Brave Party in their rebellion, and it hadn't gone unacknowledged.

The next case held several pages from Lord Gar's diary after the war. Gar had been haunted by the memories of his past, and his writings formed one of the most complete eyewitness accounts of the famous battles. He also wrote expansively about Lord Seedle, who, having left no writings of his own, would otherwise have been a largely mysterious figure.

Zetta studied one of the pages on display. It was Gar's account of the destruction of the Sacred Confine.

_We came upon the ruins at dawn. The Confine lay open and burned like a skull robbed of its brains. In places there were heaps of bodies; in others, there was only black ash. There was no wind, and the smoke was still crouching over the Confine like a waiting beast. _

_Salome of the White Hand walked beside me, now staring at the temple, now bending to touch a body, but she hardly seemed to breathe at all. I tried to comfort her. If she had not come to our temple to conduct General Kitosoru's funeral, she too would have died. She would have no comfort though and quickly walked from my side. I forbade her to enter the Confine, for the dome was already half-wrecked and might still fall completely. She turned to me, her eyes full of tears._

_My heart was heavy with grief and alight with anger. Fehran, the dog king, had slaughtered the innocence of the White Hand, a crime darker than all of his executions and petty warmongering. The_

The page ended there. Zetta moved to the next. It was from the same day, but it did not seem to be sequential.

_her to her own grief. I tried to sleep that night. I heard Salome pacing all the length of the Confine without stop. I decided I would take her to Merdesh, where perhaps she could be safe and hidden._

_In the morning, I was startled by the sound of galloping hooves, but my anger turned to relief when I saw it was Lord Seedle, dismounting from a heaving horse to stare at the wreckage. "I returned from Ijir last night," he told me. "But I had to come at once. We will distill our wine with Fehran's blood for this."_

"_What has the General said?"_

"_The same as I, only less eloquently. We are rallying in Adireh. Come, we will be riding through the day."_

"_Lord Seedle, one of the priestesses has survived. It is she who came to preside over General Kitosoru's funeral, while you were away in Ijir."_

"_Good. This attack has killed all the priestess that were not away from the Confine. Is she hysterical? We cannot leave her."_

"_You cannot suggest that we take her into battle?"_

"_She can aid Lord Kashu in the hospital. Bring her here."_

_I turned. "There she is."_

_Salome had just come to look at us from the center of the compound. She was not in hysterics, but she carried herself with strength that was only fragile at best, for she had not yet slept. Her veil was about her shoulders, and I could see from her eyes that she thought we were going to leave her._

Zetta suddenly noticed that she could see a bit of her reflection in the glass case. A tear had slid halfway down her right cheek with her not even noticing it. She wiped it away and moved on, her legs shaking slightly.

The next exhibit wasn't a case. It was a painting by one of Gar's comrades of the burning of Salome the Traitor. A woman in a long white dress was bound to a stake, bright red flames surrounding her to the shoulders. Her head was thrown back, her mouth was wide, her green eyes were wild, and her blonde hair was disheveled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The moment she saw it, Zetta's legs stopped shaking.

"No," she said disdainfully. "I'm sure I didn't cry."

She paused.

Then she laughed. "What was that? _What_ did I say?" She shook her head. "Don't get too into a good story, dear." She moved past the painting.

Then she moved back to it.

"Weird," she said after a moment.

An idea came to her. And for the first time, she started to fight down a surfacing memory.

_No, don't tell me I'm amnesiac and crazy. I must have just heard the story before._

She ran her hand along the wall. Her skin flinched from an imaginary burn.

_It's impossible -just shut up, IT'S IMPOSSIBLE, you aren't, you aren't anybody, you just have amnesia, you couldn't -you couldn't-_

_I must just be insane,_ she told herself. _That's all there is to it. There's no hope for me, because I can't-_

_Because if I were...I'd be dead._

She sank down onto the floor, just to rest, just to get her strength and composure back. Then, without warning, she was suddenly crying again, because she didn't understand, and she didn't see how she ever would.

And because she remembered without the shadow of a doubt that she was Salome the Traitor. And, as foolish as it sounded, one thousand years hadn't been long enough to erase the horror of Seedle's betrayal.

Xxxxxxxxxx

And then she was on her feet again. _Well...what now?_

_Oh. easy. I just have to figure out why I'm alive and what I'm doing here and why I have no Mana but I still know about demon-level spells._

_Well...I must have died...and gone to the Underworld..._

_I died..._

_What happened after that?_

_I don't remember... I -No, I can't remember anything after that. Why am I alive again?_

And then she was back on the floor again, and there were a lot more tears.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Eventually she uncurled her body and half sat up off the floor. She drew a deep breath. _I'm missing something. My memories just go from my death at the stake to being found at the mouth of a river. I am missing a thousand years my own afterlife. What happened?_

Salome thought back to the outfit in her duffel bag. As a priestess, she never would've worn something so deliberately revealing. Now, it didn't offend her at all. Despite all the childhood and wartime memories that had come back into her, she still felt completely disconnected. There still wasn't any continuity. She might as well be two people, one with memories and one without.

But no. She was someone. She was someone pretty famous, in fact. And now she got to walk around the modern day world pretending she still didn't know.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Igrayne did notice that Salome looked more than a bit bewildered as they climbed into the car and headed back for the capital. The distracted look in her green eyes forestalled any questions however, and Igrayne left her to her thoughts.

Just as well.

_How can I know how to drive? There weren't any cars during the Brave War. And I know about other things, radio and television and computers and telephones and microwave dinners. And how can I be here? I died, I absolutely know I died at that stake._

_What, did hell spit me back out?_

_Did someone bring me back to life?_

Salome tried to slow her breathing, tried to sort a clear line of thought through the jumbled heap of memories crowding up her mind.

_Well, I do know for certain now that I killed._ She smiled, deriving some satisfaction from the memory of stabbing Seedle. _How could I ever forget it?_ She clenched her teeth, suddenly upset and frustrated. _No, don't think about that. Think about it later when you can deal with it._

_Well...in any case, that alone doesn't explain how I know how to knife fight. I only killed Seedle on instinct, but now...now I remember actual combat disciplines. And I remember higher Mana spells...and I remember flying._

_It must have happened in hell._

Salome frowned. Her mind had come up blank again.

Xxxxxxxxx

Twelve days and two hundred questions later, Salome the Traitor was on a plane bound for New Blackcastle, Igrayne dozing in the seat next to her, Alfred poring over an alternate-history novel in the seat behind them. Salome stared out the window, her eyes studying the curving, lumping heaps of white clouds around them.

_I know who I am,_ she thought with a sweet thrill and a deep sense of foreboding. The most important question had finally been answered, but it had unleashed an army of new questions she was a bit frightened to consider.


	8. Chapter 8

8

At first, New Blackcastle looked pure green from the window of Salome's plane. Salome tried to sort out her questions. _I know I've seen grass and trees like this before. But I lived in the Waste until I was twenty-two, and the Brave War never brought me out of the deserts and badlands. But hell can't be that lush and green. _Salome frowned, trying to focus, trying to recall any memory in her mind or body. Her hand dropped to her duffel bag -but no, it was in Igrayne's suitcase. No taking daggers onboard planes, even if the security wasn't very tight.

Salome sighed and leaned back against her headrest, eyes closing. _Try to remember. I've obviously been in hell. What was hell like? What. Was. Hell. Like?_

She remembered hot rock.

_That's more like it. What else?_

She remembered a log.

_Heh?_

After that, she was done.

New Blackcastle's lushness soon devolved into farmland, suburbs and the inevitable metropolis. After they left the plane, they picked up some of their baggage and sweated through customs. Then Igrayne met with the baggage handler she'd bribed earlier to bring her suitcase clear of customs. It held her wardrobe, Salome's duffel bags and some of the more...interesting...items she'd brought back from Azthayo City. While Alfred hailed a taxi, Igrayne patted the suitcase, smiling like a five-year-old on her birthday. Her biggest find had been a genuine demon artifact, and she couldn't wait to see if it had any magical properties.

Alfred and Igrayne had a posh node of apartments in a high-rise on the city's north side, and Igrayne had called ahead to have the maid work up some sort of guest room. When she walked in, Salome found she would be sleeping in the computer room. Several screens were hooked up, there was a fat bookcase, and a quite serviceable bed had been worked up under a window.

Not that there was time to relax.

Salome was sitting on the bed, pulling off her boots, when Igrayne and Alfred strode in, the carefully wrapped artifact in the former's arms. It had been weighed down by an iron chain.

"All right," Igrayne began, the same way she had begun every research session with Salome, "what we're-"

"When do I get to see this psyche mage?" Salome interrupted. Though, at this time, she was fairly sure she didn't want him looking too deeply into her past.

"In time, in time. Now then...this should be helpful." Igrayne's eyes gleamed greedily as she began to unwrap the artifact. "After all, this comes from one of the Netherworlds. It might trigger your memory."

Salome sighed. "There are hundreds of Netherworlds. I don't know which I was in."

"You're sure of that?" Alfred asked, pencil poised over a notepad. "That there are definitely hundreds?"

Salome thought. "Well, until you asked me, I thought it was a fact. So, yes, I'm sure."

"Here it is," Igrayne said reverently, holding the artifact to the light.

They all gazed appreciatively.

"I never...realized that demons were so carefree and fun loving," Alfred murmured.

"It's a Dream Balloon," Salome said, as easily as that. Alfred began to scribble furiously. Igrayne kept her eyes on the round, red balloon. "It's a weapon. They're unpoppable in battle, but not terribly useful." Salome thought another long moment. "Actually, pretty much anything in the Netherworlds can be a weapon."

"What else?" Igrayne asked, in a hushed, reverent sort of voice.

Salome frowned. "Well...yeah, Dream Balloon. It supposedly holds the dreams of all your comrades, but I always thought that was just a line merchants gave to improve the sales."

"'Always thought'?" Alfred repeated.

Salome's head began to hurt. "Uh..."

"Don't press her," Igrayne said. It was the first time Salome had ever seen the sorceress trying to be soothing. "Don't try too hard, Zetta. Just tell us what you know."

Salome moistened her lips. Not good enough. _I'm hovering right on the edge of a memory, I know it-_ "Uh...It's a single star balloon."

"Star?" Alfred asked, forgetting his wife's admonition.

"Star...as in..." Salome fought hard for every detail. "As in its quality. Every object in the Netherworlds has a specific quality for-" For a dangerous moment, tears punched up against her eyes._ Why can I remember stuff about balloons and nothing about myself?_ She regained control with an effort. "Well...yeah, stars are important."

"Where is the star?" Igrayne asked, slowly turning the balloon around in her hands.

"Right there, above it."

Igrayne and Alfred frowned.

"It's just a little gold star." Salome sighed. "But you can't see it, right?"

"Hm," Alfred said. "I wonder how long you must have been in the Netherworld to be able to see these."

Salome sighed again. "I couldn't tell you."

Xxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Igrayne called Parselle Cole and made an appointment for Salome at four-thirty that afternoon. Salome, sitting at the breakfast table, listened to the sorceress' end of the conversation a bit uncomfortably. When Igrayne asked if she wanted to speak to Cole, Salome declined.

"Now then," Igrayne said, dressed in a blue suit jacket and skirt that was several years out of style, "I have to be at the university until one. Alf, why don't you drive Zetta downtown on your way to the club and let her wander around?"

"Oh yay," Salome commented. "Now I have wandering privileges."

"Better give her one of the cells," Alfred said.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Igrayne added a bit grimly.

"I better hope it has a tracker," Salome replied, reaching for the newspaper.

When Igrayne was gone, Alfred finished cooking up their pancakes and sequestered himself behind the front page. Salome applied butter and syrup to her pancakes and flipped up a random section of the paper. Once she got sufficiently bored, she just worked down through the stack.

Eventually she found an article that dealt with the demon attacks from a month ago. Salome scanned it. Lyr Miakoda and Dacia Vu were still unaccounted for. Until now, they'd just been two names to Salome, but here she finally got a brief blurb on who each was. Miakoda was a twenty-eight year old scientist that worked under Geoffrey Vu, the head of the national weapons development. Dacia Vu was his four year old daughter. The two had been last seen together, twenty minutes before the attacks. Miakoda had been directing Dacia to the little girls' room in her father's building complex. Salome scanned the rest of the article, looking for something about the demons themselves, maybe even what they'd been after. Some detectives suggested they might be after newly developed super weapons. Salome frowned scornfully. Please. Human weapons were lame.

Xxxxxxxxx

Human shops were lame too, Salome decided as she window-shopped her way down Caldur Street, past boutiques, shoe stores, book stores, CD stores...not a single weapon store. Salome shook her head. _I'm probably just remembering hell again. Though I can't believe they'd let you shop in hell._ Salome meandered past a health-food store, glancing at her reflection in the window. Again, she was struck by how the tanktop, jeans and boots simply looked so wrong on her. _Well, it's not like I can go around in _this_ outfit_, she thought, tapping the duffel bag that always hung from her shoulder. Almost as if in answer, the cell rang. Salome dug it out and flipped it open. "Yes?"

"I'm going to be leaving the club in about five minutes," Alfred said on the other end. "Igrayne says she wants you at Parselle's early, so can you meet me at the corner of Caldur and Banebridge?"

Salome glanced over the crowded streets. Banebridge wasn't far off. "Sure. I'll see you in about ten?"

"Right." Alfred hung up.

Salome dropped the phone back into her bag. She had enough time to walk to the corner.

The shop on the corner was a dry cleaning store. Salome leaned against it, watching the people walk past, go in and out of the shop. A few glanced back, but none of them stopped.

Until one of them did.

Salome frowned. It was a big, musclebound character. He was wearing a maroon jacket with the hood low over his face, but his enormous biceps could barely fit through the sleeves. Below that, he was wearing an extremely large pair of cargo pants, probably sewn with a hippo in mind. In his arms, he carried a vast velvet and ermine swath of cloth, splattered with what appeared to be macaroni and cheese.

For a moment, he simply stared at Salome. Salome stared back, eyes narrowed with unfriendliness. As the seconds passed, the tension between them began to swiftly escalate.

Salome was just inching her hands towards the knife in her bag when suddenly the man cried out in a large, booming voice. "Oh my goodness! Oh -oh Salome, are you all right?"

Salome's hand froze. _He knows my name?_

The man was shuffling up to her, trying not to trip on his pants cuffs. "Oh, we've been so worried! Zetta's been frantic! Oh, we have to get you _home_!"

Zetta. That name again. Salome's fingers closed around the knife's hilt.

"Ahrrm! Never fear, Salome!" the man continued grandly. "_I _can bring you back!"

Salome's right arm jerked out of the duffel bag, taking the knife with it. As the sun blazed once across its pure blade, the musclebound character grabbed her left arm. Just as the knife was about to connect with his throat, Salome fell forward. Her legs seemed to have melted under her. She stared down. The street was swirling -she was swirling -the streetlights were blazing and spinning like wet paint, the cars were trundling unconcernedly on before they bled away into quick streamers of color- About the only thing coming with her was this large stranger.

Amazement had stopped Salome's knife point just short of the man's jugular. Though she couldn't see his face, Salome could almost hear his grimace before he said, "Well now. I don't really like that."

The world swirled.

There was a blinding flash, and shooting pain through her skull..

_Ah,_ Salome said. _I'm unconscious._

And then she really was.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: In case anyone wants to know, A Bao A Qu is not strictly my own creation. It comes from _The Thousand and One Nights_, and what I know of it comes from _The Book of Imaginary Beings_ by Jorge Luis Borges. However, I've taken some enormous liberties with the folklore to suit my own (nefarious) ends._

9

Seedle chuckled, a rare occurrence. "Wake up."

Salome was not about to relinquish her precious hours of sleep and so kept her eyes resolutely shut. Of course, she'd been allowed to sleep longer than Seedle and Gar; they refused to even let her keep watch. But they were samurais. Samurais didn't need to waste time sleeping; let the priestess do that.

She felt Seedle kneel next to her and prod her shoulder with the outside of one wrist. Salome sighed, smelling the thick scent of the dirt, the plants that were heavy with dew. She tried not to think of the many worms that were, at this moment, wriggling through the soil towards her. "Let me sleep," she murmured. "I need my beauty rest. And I haven't bathed in three weeks, so I need a few more years, all right?"

Seedle stood. "Gar! We're strapping her to your back!"

Salome grimaced. Not that again. Why did they _always_ bring that up? Honestly, they'd only ever had to do that once, and that had been early in their first year together. It hadn't been her fault she'd collapsed after three hours of jogging through the badlands.

Gar's voice, reedier than Seedle's, came from some distance away. "Salome, there's a red tarantula by your left hand. Just in case you wanted to know."

Salome bolted away even before her eyes were entirely open. She sat up in a kneeling position, breathing hard as she stared at the fist-sized spider perched vertically on the tree she'd been sleeping below. She worked to compose herself before turning to the samurais. She knew very well that she'd never been in any real danger; Seedle and Gar had killed things faster than tarantulas. She sighed and gazed darkly at the two men as they packed the camp up. Yes, they could protect her; it was an advantage they had over her, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry I overslept," Salome said piously, climbing to her feet and shaking out her travel-mucky clothes. At least she wasn't wearing her white gown. It wasn't safe to be a priestess of the Hand right now, and Salome had been outfitted in a green tunic and black breeches under tall boots. She'd never be mistaken for a man, but at least she was slightly less noticeable.

She regretting having to leave her caduceus behind, her tall staff adorned with wings and two entwined snakes. In less hectic times, it would've proclaimed her office and insured her safe passage across war zones and borders. It was just another death-warrant now, but she felt naked without it. She also felt a bit naked in these pants, but that was beside the point. When Seedle and his samurais had packed King Fehran and his dogs off to the Underworld, then Salome could be a priestess again.

"Nothing heard from A Bao A Qu," Gar commented, slinging his bedroll across his shoulder. When he saw that Salome was up, he set to work rolling her bedroll up as well.

Seedle nodded, his one eye lost in thought. "That doesn't say much. It'll find us. It always finds humans."

Salome rubbed her arms, remembering A Bao A Qu's writhing, ululating screams they'd all heard last night. "It won't necessarily be a bad thing," she reminded them. Gar glanced blankly up at her. He didn't believe it either.

Gar finished with Salome's bedroll and stood, tucking it under his left arm. He was a young samurai, only slightly older than Salome. His black hair was worn long in a ponytail down his back, and the last year of war had already begun to streak it gray. His face wasn't handsome, but it was thoughtful, and his clear brown eyes were never dull.

Seedle probably was handsome, but Salome preferred not to think of him in those terms. He was impressive, with broad shoulders, a muscular chest and hard, corded arms. His gaunt face was finely cut and difficult to forget. Though he was only in his mid thirties, his long wavy hair was snow white. His right eye had been gouged out when he was young. Only his left eye was truly expressive; despite its deep black color, it burned with one of the brightest fires Salome had ever seen.

"Let's move on," was all he said. "We can reach Iltehaan by noon." Gar nodded. Iltehaan would be their safety, at least for now. Seedle would then suggest that they leave Salome behind where she'd be secure, and then all three of them would find a reason why she had to come. This quest's reason was that the suzerain of Iltehaan had once been cured of palsey by a White Priestess. Seedle hoped that Salome's presence might help influence the suzerain to the Brave Party's cause.

They moved on through the jungle, Seedle in the lead, Gar bringing up the rear. It wasn't a large jungle, just a slim swath of lushness that cut through the Bet ilKarkadaam where it neared the coast. It would've made a good oasis for travelers, verdant, providing quick access to the coast, except for the fact that it was called A Bao A Qu's Paradise.

Paradise indeed. Salome caught her breath in wonder as a brilliant saffron bird cut through the trees high above them, trailing a long fan of green and blue tail feathers. Salome would've reached up to touch one of the dew-dripping flowers that adorned the lianas creeping up the tree trunks if she hadn't known that most of them were guarded by radiant lavender serpents. Sometimes the tarantulas themselves could be mistaken for gorgeous blooms. A Bao A Qu's Paradise was its own sort of hell, but Salome couldn't imagine a more beautiful one.

It was so gorgeous that the silence was painful, and Salome eagerly broke it. "Seedle?"

He tilted his head in her direction in acknowledgment. He needed to watch the path, but A Bao A Qu never crept up on travelers; if it came, they'd hear it.

"What did you think of General Heketsu's proposal?"

He sounded vaguely surprised. "You're asking now? That was nearly a month ago."

"Well, maybe I wanted to give you time to think about it," she returned. "I know you won't say anything until you've brooded for a week or two."

"I have to admit," Gar said behind her, "I'm a bit curious. With all respect," he added quickly.

Seedle sighed, taking a moment to draw his short katana and hack their way through a net of lianas. He waited until several large spiders and tree frogs had fallen, and then they passed through. "I think I agree with Heketsu."

Salome raised her eyebrows. That was saying quite a bit. "You really want to be king?"

"It's not so much a question of desire," Seedle responded. "It's duty. After all, when I kill Fehran, who else will take over?"

"You're right," Gar said. "The people will rally for it. You are the Brave Party, Seedle."

Seedle did glance over his shoulder then, raising an eyebrow with amusement. "Yeah? Is that what you'll say before the next battle? 'Go on, Seedle, you're the Brave Party, you go out and fight. We'll watch.'"

Salome smiled. "I'll make a picnic lunch."

"And I'll manage the bets," Gar added.

"And I'll come back from the dead," Seedle informed them, "and give you hell the rest of your lives."

Salome felt the air shift as Gar drew his short katana and make a playful lunge toward Seedle. Without even turning, Seedle drew his own and parried, stopping the thrust instantly with a loud clash. Salome had just a second to admire the two locked swords before Seedle shifted his and sent Gar's spinning away.

Gar grinned. "All right, all right, you're the master." He turned to retrieve his sword.

Seedle's sword shot out, its flat hitting Gar's bare arm with a loud smack. Gar's eyes widened incredulously, then he bowed his head under Seedle's livid stare.

"What the hell were you doing? This isn't a combat ring, and Salome isn't a samurai. If she hadn't seen you coming, you would've skewered her through the middle. How would you be explaining yourself then?"

Gar could have said several things, such as he'd been aware of where Salome was walking, and he'd made sure she had seen him coming. But Seedle was the master; it was his place to rebuke and Gar's to submit.

"My apologies," Gar said humbly, "Seedle. Salome."

"Of course," Salome said, knowing he hadn't intended her any harm. Seedle gave her a sharp glare before turning back to the jungle path. Salome watched Gar sheathe his short katana, his face stony. A bright welt was already appearing along his bicep. Salome didn't say anything. It was a discipline-wound, and she knew how deeply offended both samurais would be if she offered to heal it.

They walked on some more in a loaded silence. The sun's eastern ascent made the morning hotter; humidity sent fat drops of sweat rolling down Salome's back, and she stared at the samurais a bit jealously. They at least didn't have to wear shirts. Her light hair, usually so thick and gleaming, was matted, almost entirely limp except for the few strands that clung to her temples. As noon passed, the trees seemed to glow brighter with heat, their outlines dimming, as if the entire jungle was a furnace. Salome's calves were beginning to shake. She was wearily resigning herself to a second episode of being carried on Gar's back when A Bao A Qu screamed.

The humans stopped dead and strained forward to run in almost one movement. But they didn't run. There wasn't any point in running.

A Bao A Qu screamed again, starting on a piercingly high note, its voice ululating up and down the scale until it finally ended on a deep rasping grate. Even after the screaming ended, the air was full of its throat-scraping pant.

Then it screamed a third time.

Salome's sweat had gone cold. Seedle stepped back, moving between her and the source of the shrieking howl. Gar moved to Seedle's side. Seedle's hand went to his sword, then he swore. Swords weren't any good. Protecting Salome wasn't any good either.

The third scream abruptly cut off. There was the sound of quick, insistent gasping.

"It's approaching," Gar whispered.

Salome struggled to find her voice. "Maybe -if we don't look at it-"

"There's no excuse not to face your fears!" Seedle said huskily, though Salome could see the pulse beating quickly in his neck. "It can't hurt us."

The panting was growing softer, slower, calmer.

Salome's terror was rolling over her like a wave, jerking her down like undertow. "It can hurt us."

Seedle swallowed. "No more than you can hurt yourself."

"I can hurt myself," Salome whispered back.

There was silence.

Then there came a whimpering. At first, it was like a wounded animal, agonized, pleading to be put out of its misery. Then it was a love call, a beast trying to win a mate. Then it was soft and high and helpless, the whimper of a newborn puppy, blind and looking for its mother's milk.

Gar, eyes wide under the strain, exhaled raggedly. And so A Bao A Qu went for him.

There was a faint haze. For a single moment, A Bao A Qu appeared as what it really was, a strange, sinuous clear shape with hundreds of flailing arms that ended in human hands. Then the moment passed, and King Fehran of Azthayo stood in the jungle before them. He advanced, a tall man, bald despite only being middle-aged. His eyes glittered like mica, and he wore steel plate armor from the far north. In his right hand he carried a massive mace, its head adorned by three-inch spikes. In his left hand he carried-

"It's not real, Gar-" Salome tried to shout, but her throat was entirely dry. How did she know it wasn't real? After all, A Bao A Qu was real -and if she spoke, it would know who to attack next.

"It's not real," Gar was repeating to himself, his face white. "Fehran's not here -you know it isn't real!"

Fehran laughed. "No, Fehran's not here. But you're here, and you've given me this shape." Fehran's lips parted again, and he screamed in A Bao A Qu's voice, the sound tearing through Salome's eardrums. "Is this all there is for me?" A Bao A Qu shouted with Fehran's voice. "Is this all you can make me? If you were as honorable as the world thinks you are, you would not make me into a shape you fear!"

Gar's eyes were twisted shut, his hands tight over his ears, his lips pulled back in strain. "You-you're lying!"

"You could have said nothing worse than that!" A Bao A Qu shouted. "I am the fear that lives in your mind -I am the fear that rules you -and you strengthen me with lies?" Another scream. Gasping, Seedle retreated a step, backing Salome away from the apparition.

"Look at me!" A Bao A Qu shouted. "Can't you at least look at what makes you cringe?"

With an almost animal whimper, Gar opened his eyes into small slits. King Fehran had not advanced, but he was extending his left arm forward.

Gar gasped and closed his eyes.

"Look!"

Gar dragged his eyes open.

Fehran was holding Gar's scalp from his left hand. From the blood-clogged mass of black hair, Gar's skull had half-detached itself. The skin was chalk white, the eyes as blank as marbles. The mouth was open, the tongue hanging out like a slug. The right half of the face had been ripped open by Fehran's mace, dripping blood and streamers of flesh.

Salome's legs gave way under her; she fell to her knees just as Fehran turned and looked into her eyes.

Salome shut her eyes and dug her fingers into the ground, trying to anchor herself.

"Look at me," A Bao A Qu said in a new voice, a different man's voice. "Look at me."

_I will- _Salome told herself. _I promise I will -I just need time-I just need to-_

"Look at me! It's dark behind your eyes. I'll be in that darkness, but at least you can see me here!"

Salome searched her mind feverishly, trying to second-guess A Bao A Qu, trying to gain an advantage. A Bao A Qu hated its own shape. Whenever it found a human, it took on the shape of that human's nature. It was said that in six thousand years, only one man had ever been holy enough not to fear the shape A Bao A Qu showed him.

Salome wasn't holy -if she was holy, she wouldn't be afraid -of course- what shape would it take? -she was frightened -what did she fear the most? -why didn't she know what she feared the most?

"Look at me. Or have you forgotten?"

Digging her fingers in deeper into the ground, anchoring herself more firmly, Salome squinted her eyes open.

It was a farmer.

Salome gasped as a tide of remorse and self-hate swept through her.

The farmer stared at her out of large green eyes. His young face -hardly old enough to grow a beard- was sad and calm. His black hair under his wide-brimmed hat was curly. He wore a long brown dishdasha and carried a hoe in his left hand. He had no shoes. Salome suddenly remembered all of that.

"Oh, you do recognize me?" he asked sadly. "I'm not surprised. You promised yourself that you would never forget me, that you would remind yourself of it every night before you went to sleep, that you would punish yourself the rest of your life to make atonement.

"_Atonement_?" he howled. "What atonement is this? You've forgotten me, pushed me so far out of your mind that I'm nothing but a lurking ghost to terrify you! Atonement? If you could expunge me from your memory forever, you'd never hesitate! You want to pretend you're among the strongest of the White Priestesses! But you're so weak, the best shape you can give me is_ this_? You just want to forget! You-"

"Shut up!" Seedle shouted. A Bao A Qu instantly shifted its attention. Salome knew that because it was no longer shouting at her. But she'd closed her eyes and buried her face in her filthy hands, and she didn't see what shape A Bao A Qu took for Seedle.

"Lord of the Brave Party?" A Bao A Qu hissed. "With such a grandiose title, I might have hoped for a nobler form. But no, look at me! Loathsome, crawling...Is this all your discordant mind can fabricate? Look at your weakness, samurai! Your blade is no defense to you! Why have you wasted your life learning a weapon that can't save you? If you're as strong as they say, why do I look like _this_?" A loud sobbing rose up from A Bao A Qu's throat, resounding through the Paradise. It lasted for an unbearably long time, so long that it was echoing in the three humans' ears long after A Bao A Qu had fled in shame. When they opened their eyes, all they could hear of A Bao A Qu was a soft moaning, more like the rustle of silk than anything else.

Salome looked up. Her face was stiff with tears, and her eyes smarted. Gar's face was still white. Seedle seemed unable to look at either of them. He opened his mouth and tried a few times to speak out loud. Eventually, he was able to rasp, "Let's rest here."

Xxxxxxxxx

A Bao A Qu never visited a man twice, that was their only comfort. Seedle and Gar unwrapped some waybread. Salome, shaky and exhausted, stretched out onto her side, pressing her face into the soft flesh of her bent arm. She declined any food, and they continued traveling. They made their way out of A Bao A Qu's Paradise by sunset, the path out of the jungle leading them to some old ruins dating back three hundred years. They decided to stay the night there. The Paradise was a dark smudge on the north horizon, the sea glimmered from the west. The Bet ilKarkadaam stretched forever into the east.

"I'm going to hunt for some real meat," Gar said, voice still detached. Salome wasn't surprised. Gar had told her that he always thought better when he was alone and had something to do. They all needed to think.

Salome conjured a fire using her Mana. The sky darkened, the moon casting its fishing net of stars. Salome watched moths dance around the fire. Seedle, back from scouting the ruins, sat down beside her. Salome studied his tired face.

"Who was the farmer?" he asked.

Salome considered not telling him. But then she decided -_What good is silence? What good is mystery?_

"Do you remember the first time you and Gar brought me to Khardanaj? It was a little after we first met. You started speaking out against Fehran, and that riot started." Seedle nodded. "We had to escape, and we had to fight our way out. I used Mana." Salome stared at the campfire. "Fire Mana. As we were hurrying away...that farmer ran at me with his hoe. To kill me, of course." Salome spoke slowly, trying to keep her emotion out of her voice. "I shoved him away. He wasn't strong. And, as I ran past, I cast a Giga fire behind me. I heard the spell impact. I didn't look back. But...I've always thought that he was the first man I ever murdered."

"Self-defense," Seedle said quietly.

"Even so." Salome tensed her eyelids, holding the tears back. "The first person I ever killed."

"That's what you're afraid of?"

"Of him?" Salome shook her head. "No. But what he means. I'm afraid-" Salome looked at her hands, rough and dirty, the crescents of grime under her nails. "I'm afraid of not hurting. I- I've been in so many battles, and I'm afraid that I don't feel guilty enough for all the people I've killed. I'm afraid that I'm turning into a heartless killing monster."

"Salome," Seedle whispered, "you will never be heartless."


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: Hello, it's me again. Just here to mention that ff's strange document manager doesn't allow me to use the at symbol, so all the email address you'll see here have (a) instead...I really don't understand this site sometimes._

10

When Salome woke up, her face was pressed into the soft flesh of her bent arm. She didn't move, however, because she didn't know where she was and she heard a strange voice.

Salome tentatively moved the arm she wasn't resting on. It felt nothing but smooth glass. She didn't feel the weight of her duffel bag. She was still clothed. Salome cracked her eyes open just wide enough to see.

She was in an enormous glass bubble.

Salome shut her eyes._ I'm awake, right?_ Right, she was. She opened her eyes again. The bubble was huge, curving high above her head; she'd be able to stand comfortably in it, and she was lying fully stretched out on her side. She was afraid to move though, afraid to start it off on a headlong roll.

The ball was transparent. She looked through it and saw the dingy gray roof of what seemed to be a warehourse, crossed and recrossed by dingy gray pipes and metal mesh. Salome looked to her left. There was a stack of enormous wooden crates, all larger than a van, all unlabeled. Each had three faint stars hovering above it. Salome widened her eyes. Whatever the crates contained had to come from the Netherworlds.

Twisting her neck slightly, Salome looked out straight ahead. All she saw was about sixty yards of empty space ending in a hard gray wall. Looking down, she realized that her bubble was perched on top of two crates. The concrete floor was fifteen feet down.

There were smaller crates scattered across the floor, all of them marked by stars, some as many as four. There were also scattered paper plates and take-out boxes jumbled haphazardly around. There was even a long red velvet and ermine cape heaped over some crates, still splattered with macaroni and cheese. Her duffel bag was slumped in one corner. Salome almost jumped when she realized she wasn't alone. A young man sat leaning against one of the huge crates, a yellow laptop balanced on his thighs. Salome couldn't see his face; from this angle, all she could see was spiky blue green hair, a short yellow vest over his bare chest, and poofy blue pants. And pointed ears.

The young demon sat typing a long time. Then his hand moved to the pad below the keyboard, and he seemed to be scrolling around. Salome occasionally heard him mutter words under his breath, but she couldn't hear what.

Salome tried to collect herself. _Okay, what do I know? This guy's working with two other people: Drake and Zetta_. Salome frowned. _I must know them, I used Zetta's name. Why don't I remember them?_ She compressed her lips. What could a bunch of demons want with Salome the Traitor? _And if they want something, why am I alive?_

She watched the demon type for about fifteen minutes, unable to answer any of her own questions. Eventually, a loud booming came from the door at the other end of the warehouse. Salome watched as the young demon sighed, closed his laptop and pointed a finger at the door. As the young demon put his laptop aside and rose to his feet, Salome's musclebound kidnapper shuffled in, carrying a pizza box in his arms.

"Finally!" the young demon said. "I'm starving. I hope it's still warm."

The muscley figure huffed as he set the box down on top of a crate. "Ugh! Humans everywhere -I can't take this much longer, Alex."

"Well, you won't have to," Alex said breezily. He opened the box and made a show of inhaling the pizza's delectable aroma. Salome felt her own stomach growl in answer. "I just sent an amail off to Zetta," Alex continued, extracting a gooey slice. "It was very prettily worded. He should be on us before nightfall."

The other figure was busy ripping off his jacket and pants. Salome jerked up in alarm when she realized that this demon wasn't even humanoid. He was a large, upright lion, possessed of enormous forearms and a thickly curled blue mane. A round white and red striped beachball -no, it was a crown -rode his head. His red pupils glowed out of eyes that were otherwise completely black. He wore a long, leopard print half-skirt that ended in an ermine hem. It only covered one leg. The other was entirely bare. Salome noticed, with a grimace, that he was wearing red briefs. He also had little gold booties on his hind paws.

He threw the pants and jacket away from him with a look of disgust. "Ugh! This had better work, Alex!"

Alex was lolling against one of the crates, chewing on his pizza. From this angle, Salome abandoned any doubts of his identity; this was definitely the young punk who had accosted her in the diner. "Come on, Drake," he was saying, "it's not like you've got anything left to lose."

"How about my life?" Drake spluttered, reaching for the velvet cape and tying it around his hefty shoulders.

Alex snorted. "Please, that's not worth much."

"Hmph." Drake withdrew his own slice of pizza. Salome's mouth watered. "Well, did you at least find me a new weapon?" He sighed. "I can't believe I left my Dream Balloon in Azthayo City! It was my best one!"

"Yeah, I found you one." Alex snapped his fingers and a little pink flower appeared in his hand. "Here."

"What?" Drake spluttered. "That?"

"Hey, it's a two star Cutesy. I wanted to make sure it was something you can handle."

"A- A Cutesy? What kind of attacks can I get off a Cutesy?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Alex replied, handing the flower over. "You are the most brilliant Overlord in the cosmos, right?" He snickered.

"I'd be the strongest too, if I wasn't stuck with-" He bared his heavy fangs and stuck the Cutsey somewhere inside his cape. "Well-" He cleared his throat, assuming a lofty tone. "One doesn't become a great Overlord without ingenuity. I'll think of... something."

_Demon Overlords?_ Salome repeated. _What have I fallen into?_

Alex was checking his wristwatch. "Hm, we'd better not waste time, Drake. We don't want Zetta finding us here."

"Right. What about her?"

Salome closed her eyes just in time. She could feel the two Overlords looking up at her.

"No problem," Alex said easily. "She's got no Mana. And even if she did, she'd have a hard time breaking out of that. It's a four star Happy Bubble, reinforced with my own Mana-resistant spells. Even Zetta would have trouble breaking out. And, like I said, she's got no Mana."

"True, but-"

There was a long-suffering sigh. "What's up with you, Drake? Are you an Overlord or the hero of some animated kids' movie? Sheesh, I'll leave some hellbouncers if it'll make you feel better."

"Sure, sure -but command them not to eat the pizza!"

"Ye-es, Drake." There were two crashing noises. "Okay, watch the place while King Drake and I are out. Don't touch the pizza. We'll be back later." Salome heard two blasting noises. Cautiously, she opened her eyes again.

The Overlords were gone. Two heavyset figures in black armor stood directly under her.

Salome knew that if she gave herself time to think, reason would assert itself, she'd wimp out and remain entirely at the mercy of these demons. So she just rocked her Happy Bubble forward. It wasn't until the Happy Bubble rocked off the edge of the crate that reason asserted itself.

CRASH!

And that was the sound that Salome's leg made.

The Happy Bubble smashed into a million Happy Pieces, KOing both hellbouncers simultaneously. Salome gasped in excruciating pain, not only from the hundreds of glass shards that had embedded themselves into her arms and chest, but for her entirely shattered left thigh bone. Pain broke in and out of her.

She dragged herself over to the pizza. It had been what was really tempting her after all. Unable to lift herself very high, she reached up one arm and tipped the box onto the floor. It landed pizza-down, but she didn't care. She righted the box and bit into a slice of pineapple ham pizza. She hated pineapple, but there wasn't anything for it.

Her leg instantly mended and the glass shards vanished. All the lacerations across her bare flesh healed up nicely and left no scars.

Salome stared at her pretty white skin in wonder, then at the pizza slice. What? Then her eyes refocused, and she saw three gold stars hovering above it. She looked at the pizza box.

_Diablo's Fire and Brimstone Pizza Pie! Hot and Toasty as the Flames of Hell!_

_Nutritional Content:_

_HP -+128000_

_SP -0_

_ATK-0_

_DEF-0_

_INT-0_

_RES-0_

_TEC-+208_

_And restores your HP/SP all in one bite!_

Salome stared at the slice with new appreciation. Demon pizza. Resigning herself to the pineapple, she finished her slice off and got to her feet. She checked her duffel bag first. Everything still there. Slinging it over her shoulder, she drew her knife and began cutting Drake's human clothes into long strips. That accomplished, she picked her way carefully across the sea of broken glass and hogtied the hellbouncers. She didn't remember where she'd learned to hogtie; it was just another of those talents she'd mysteriously picked up.

Salome looked around. She narrowed her eyes and went and sat down next to the yellow laptop. There wasn't any lock or alarm on it that she could see. She put it on her lap and opened it.

A desktop sporting a very curvy female cat demon thing greeted her. Salome glanced at the icons -a normal word processor, a trash bin... lots of things she couldn't even recognize.

_I just sent off an amail to Zetta._

Salome studied the smaller icons along the bottom of the screen, moving her finger along the mousepad to see what each said. The one on the very end was a tiny pewter colored skull. Its little bar read "Psychosoft Nethernet Explorer."

_That looks likely._ Salome clicked. The screen went deep red. The little skull icon zoomed up to the top right hand corner, where its eye sockets flashed alternately red and orange.

Salome found that she had accessed a page that was simply a portrait of Alex's smiling face. There were several links below it. Salome bypassed and and clicked on .

A new screen opened it. It was another portrait of Alex, but this time it was saying "Welcome to Alexander Mail." Salome scrolled down the page to the sign in box.

_Hmmm... This seems to be Alex's personal laptop. None of the hellbouncers even touched it. I wonder...how secure is it really?_

Not very, actually. That was the problem with being lazy, Salome decided gleefully. All she had to do was click twice on the sign in bar and "destroyer(a)amail-dot-bam" appeared below. She typed that into the sign in bar, and the password bar was automatically filled with eight asterisks. Hoping that it wasn't a trap, Salome clicked on sign in.

_Welcome destroyer(a)amail-dot-bam. You have 0 unread messages read the top of the screen._

Salome frowned. What now? She clicked on Alex's inbox and read the addresses of the parties who had recently contacted him.

thunda-giant(a)amail-dot-bam had sent 40 recent messages. Salome clicked on one.

_thunda-giant(a)amail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: 40 minutes ago)_

_Master, I've rounded up all the hell-kitties I can find and given them the packets of lime hell-o. I ran out though, and had to give some of them tapioca hell-o pudding. Is this all right? They will be ready to deploy tomorrow morning._

Salome went down the list.

_snoworacle(a)pmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: 1 hour ago)_

_No way, Alex, I don't have time for your stupid plans. I'm still busy convincing Zetta how indebted he is to me, all right? And that's hard enough, okay? If you want to light off to one of the human worlds to find some special weapon, you're on your own. And I'm not going to give you any predictions._

_beautifulking(a)dmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: 1 hour ago)_

_I'm off to get the pizza. Did we agree on pineapple-ham or goat cheese?_

_darklord(a)vmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: three hours ago)_

_Hi Alex, I just wanted to thank you for bringing over your curry custard to the Diablerie Jamboree last Wierdsday. It was very well received._

_fallen-angel(a)vmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: three hours ago)_

_Alex, what was the nutritional content of your curry custard? I only had one serving last week, but I'm getting a double chin. If it's because of your cooking, you better start canceling your holiday plans, because Micky will be coming over to kill you._

_stardragon(a)vmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: three hours ago)_

_WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? YOUR CURRY CUSTARD GAVE ME INDEGESTION! I DON'T EVEN HAVE A STOMACH! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?_

_katana-reaper(a)seemail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: four hours ago)_

_Hey, I found more of your thunder giants lurking around my citadel. I guess all I really want to know is if you want their bodies back. I hope you like jigsaw puzzles._

_tyrant-dragon(a)bmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: six hours ago)_

_Thank you for your birthday present, young Alex. Those pills have done wonders for my arthritis. I can't tell you how fit I feel. However, they seem to attract vermin. Ever since I began using them, these pink elephants won't go away. They're everywhere, dancing ballets and driving clown cars into each other -it's really quite disturbing. What did you say the name of your physician was?_

_badass-diablo(a)zmail-dot-bam to me: (4/24: seven hours ago)_

_Hey Asshat, what's the point of messing with my citadel's electricity? So what if all my henchmen electrocute themselves every time they turn on a light or try to use the microwave? You think that's going to STOP me? You just wait, little boy, I'm gonna show you what a real Overlord's made of. Then I'll show you what YOU'RE made of! I'll separate all your innards into helpful piles, how's THAT, Alejandro!_

_...By the way, what the hell were you talking about, saying you've got my most cherished possession under your control? My Zetta Sword's right here. What, do you want me to stick it in your stomach? Well, sure, always happy to oblige a friend._

_Salome frowned. None of this was making any sense to her. She scrolled further down through the inbox's history. There wasn't a lot of variety. Several times she got_

_lefthand-man(a)amail-dot-bam to me: (4/18)_

_Hey Alex! Great news! The latest shipment of poisonous tree frogs arrived! Where do you want me to put them?_

_Occasionally she got_

_sorceressqueen(a)salomail-dot-bam: (2 C ago)_

_Alex, I really don't appreciate your misplacing 6000 of your best warriors on my front lawn this morning. Why don't you come to my place so we can talk it over?_

Salome checked the dates and raised her eyebrows. Alex's inbox went as far back as five centuries. She clicked to his Sent Mail.

Replies to most of the messages. Salome glanced through them. She mainly found threats and lists of weapons. She sighed and clicked the laptop shut. Now what?

She glanced towards the door, fairly certain that it was locked.

Just then, a little girl's voice cheerfully said, "Oh hi, Salome! You're here too?"

Salome whirled around.

Sitting on top of a crate was a thick blue book. It was standing on its end, its bright front cover facing her. There was a strange blue globe on its cover, swirling with energy.

"Hmho! It's great to see you!" giggled the voice. "Oh, but I'm forgetting...You never saw me like this before, right?"


	11. Chapter 11

11

Salome blinked.

The book seemed to be thinking. At least, its little girl voice sounded thoughtful. "That's right. You're amnesiac. Hum, I should've remembered that."

Salome decided that, all things considered, she just had to let things slide. Like the fact that it was a talking book. Maybe later there'd be time to find out all about that. She put Alex's laptop to one side and slowly stood. "You know who I am?"

The book chuckled. "Oh, of course I know who you are! Hee hee, I'm omniscient."

Salome blinked again, harder this time. "Cocky."

"Ummmm, I dunno," it replied. "After all, how many talking books have you met? How can you make a comparison? Actually," she went on, "you've met two, and I think I'm the humbler version."

For a moment, Salome's head seemed to be filled with static. _"What?"_

The book shook its front cover patiently. And giggled.

Salome frowned. "I don't think I trust you."

"Why not? You did before."

Salome's eyes widened. "When?"

Silence.

"_When?"_

The book sounded a bit more uncertain. "Hmmm. I don't know about this."

Salome could feel her anger creeping up towards its threshold. "I thought you knew everything!"

The book continued. "If I just tell you these things, you'll never really remember them."

Salome set her teeth, eyes flashing. "You're just going to dangle my past in front of me?"

The book sighed. "Actually, I think you have more important things than the past to worry about."

Salome advanced toward the book. "Just who are you?"

The book giggled. Yet again. "I'm the Sacred Tome. But you can call me Trenia."

Neither name held any meaning for Salome. "What sort of...tome are you?"

"Oh, a sacred one."

Salome sighed. "I never would've figured that out on my own." She looked at the book uncertainly. "Do you mind if I -uh-"

"If you -oh, look through my pages? Oh, that's no problem. What are you looking for?"

"I don't know," Salome admitted, hoisting the heavy book up. She sat crosslegged down on the cement floor, resting the book in her lap. "Something to do, I guess. I think the door's locked and...well, the more I can learn, the better advantage I'll have."

"Sounds reasonable. There isn't much to read though. Now, if you'd gotten me pre-Confinement, I could show you some pretty hefty entries."

A bit befuddled, Salome opened to the first page. It was the only page in the entire book with any markings on it. There was, in fact, only one entry, written in the demonic script. The letters were dark and carefully formed, as if each had been written with deliberate precision:

_My beloved Salome will be revived in my name, Lord Zetta._

"Whoa," Trenia said. "Your hands just went all clammy."

"What- what is this?"

"Huh? The writing? Oh, that's just Lord Zetta's most recent wish. It was a doozy."

"Bu- wha -who -who is-"

"Who is Lord Zetta?"

She swallowed. "No. Who is...this Salome?"

"Ohhhhhh. It's you."

"But-" Salome whispered, terror building just under the surface. "I don't remember any of this."

"Right," Trenia answered, her voice growing more somber. "I thought it would be kinder that way. I mean, if you'd remembered, all you'd be doing is wanting to return to Zetta. And you couldn't do that because of Seedle."

"What?" Salome gasped. "Do what? Seedle?"

"Zetta didn't like it," Trenia went on. "But he wasn't going to leave you to Seedle. So I revived you without your memories. I tell you, he was upset."

"I- you-"

"Hmm? What?"

"This isn't- this isn't making any sense to me!" Salome shouted, voice shaking. "I was dead? Some demon-"

"Huh, you've died twice, Lady Salome."

"Lady Sa- what?"

"Hm, I was right. Just telling you facts isn't doing you any good. You're not internalizing any of it. So I'd better stop."

"Wait!" Salome screamed. She flipped the book's pages, swore it out and whacked it on the floor, but it didn't say anything else.

Salome stood and began to pace feverishly, trying, as the book had mentioned, to internalize what she had learned.

Salome shakily sat down again.

_Some demon wished me back to life?_

_I knew a demon?_

_The demon named Zetta._

_And now he's working with Drake and Alex._

_But he's going to be fighting Alex?_

_The book brought me back to life -because I died again._

_And Seedle-_

Salome's hands shook. After all this, she had to find out that Seedle was still a threat.

_How?_

"_Lady" Salome? What -what does that mean?_

_And the book says I have more important things than the past to worry about-_

"Trenia," Salome said, voice still shaky. There wasn't an answer. Salome gritted her teeth with helpless frustration. "Okay, Sacred Tome. Deal: I won't ask about my past, but talk to me!"

"Oh sure," Trenia said pleasantly. "What about?"

Salome turned back to the tome, trying to keep her face and voice neutral. "What are you doing here? You have demonic writing in you, so...shouldn't you be in one of the Netherworlds?" She looked around at all the enormous crates. "Along with this other junk?"

"Oh, that stuff mostly comes from Alex's Netherworld. I belong to a different one."

"So he is an Overlord?"

"Yup. The God of Destruction. The most powerful Overlord in the cosmos."

Salome rubbed her forehead. "Just my luck. And the other one?"

"That's King Drake the Third. He's the, uh, fuzziest Overlord in the cosmos."

"Did they steal you?"

The tome laughed delightedly. "Of course! Do you have any idea how valuable I am? I'm Lord Zetta's most cherished possession."

Salome felt a chill at the mention of the Overlord's name. "Yes. The one Alex was referring to in his amail." _That means he's trying to lure Lord Zetta to the human world. For what? This "special weapon"?_

"Actually," Trenia went on, "he might've been talking about you. But I don't think you count as a possession really."

Salome's eyes went wide. "Trenia! What are you talking abo-"

Just then the warehouse shook. Keyed up and caught entirely off guard, Salome screamed before she dove to the floor, covering the back of her head with her arms. She went rattling across the concrete, bruising herself and scraping her left shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Her duffel bag came clattering with her. She whammed into a crate, one of her hands digging through her bag. She drew her knife. The warehouse stopped shaking.

Smoke curled and unfurled everywhere. The doorway had been reduced to a gaping saw-toothed hole. A lone figure stood in the heaps of smoke and dust. Salome braced for anything.

There was a coughing. Then a male voice, a lisping voice, a frettish lisping male voice said, "Zetta? Are you here yet?"


	12. Chapter 12

12

Salome's mind was having difficulty processing what her eyes beheld.

She counted four arms, innumerable batwings, a glowing sun disk behind the thing's head -one of its heads. There was a gratuitous quantity of blue male muscle, a large smooth emerald in its chest...a little blue head on its lap...a very large bone-flame- eyeball thing-

That's all Salome took in during the one moment of silence. Then a deep bass voice boomed through the hall. It seemed to come from the bottom thing. "Braaa ha ha ha! We're early! Let's steal the tome!"

"_No_!" the top section expostulated. "We're here to help _Zetta_!"

Salome's hackles rose. That name, _again._

"Well, yes," a smooth female voice said. Ah, the middle section. "But why don't we help ourselves while we're at it?"

"_Quiet_ you two!" the top fumed. "Zetta needs our help! Besides, he promised to return our drill collection if we brought Trenia back safe and sound. And that's what we're gonna do."

"Hmph," the middle section replied. "So while he's off terrorizing Alex's henchmen, we have to run his errands? Typical. Micky, we should just set Trenia on fire right here and now."

"No! Z-Zetta would kill us!"

"Please, you know he lost more than half his Mana reviving Salome."

"WE CAN TAKE HIM!"

"_No_," Micky said firmly. "We are going to do the right thing. Yoo hoo, Trenia, where are you?"

"BRAAA HA!" boomed the dragon skull at the bottom. "There's a human in here!"

Salome stared headlong at the monster.

Micky recoiled, eyes wide. "Oh my gosh, a _human_! Oh no! Are we all up on our vaccine shots? Ophelia, are we?"

"Hm," the middle section said, "I can't remember. Dryzen?"

"HEH HEH. LET'S KILL HER!"

"She_ is_ a witness," Ophelia observed. "I think it's best not to leave too many of those lying around."

Micky had been staring at Salome for a long moment. "Hey, wait a minute...Hey, guys-"

But just then Dryzen the dragon head parted his jaws and a thick column of fire spewed out towards Salome.

Salome lunged to one side in a frantic headlong run. She was actually heading right for the demon creature, but she didn't let that stop her. The fire impacted with one of the crates, causing an explosion of sparks, shrapnel and eight-inch splinters all throughout the warehouse. It also created another heavy tide of smoke. All three heads on the hideously terrifying monster began hacking (the dragon started hacking up fireballs). Holding her free hand in front of her mouth, Salome dashed past it through the door way, plumes of smoke following her. She found herself at the back of an alley, pitch black except for a faraway streetlight. Knife still ready, she dashed towards the light, her feet hitting the wet pavement in a frantic tattoo. Only when she burst out of the alley did she realize it was pouring down rain.

Salome cast to either side, blinking through the heavy drops. She was in a factory complex, a huge node of warehouses. She stood in the middle, where the various alleys joined and formed a lighted rotunda. The lamplight streamed. How late was it? How far away was dawn? And how many sounds was this rain covering?

Salome darted a quick look down her alley. It seemed empty. Not remotely reassured, she jogged across the rotunda to where a phalanx of sixteen-wheelers was parked. She darted between two of them and caught her breath, the rain sliding down her feverish skin.

_Trenia...Should I have tried to rescue her? Nothing for it anymore. If she's that valuable, someone should take care of her._

_Okay, Salome, think, think...That creature knew Zetta. It said that Zetta's lost a lot of Mana because he brought someone named Salome back to life. Salome pressed her lips together, bringing her emotions to heel. No. He brought _me_ back to life._

_And...oh no, what did that book say? That I was his most cherished possession?_

_What the hell? I don't want to be some demon's cherished possession!_

_But what if I really am?_

Salome's heart rate had slowed sufficiently. She edged forward between the two trucks. She didn't see how she could reasonably spend the night here, but maybe she'd have to.

She stared across the rotunda, then past it, to all the dead black alleys. For all she knew, demons could be waiting in every last one.

_But -wouldn't I hear some sounds of battle?_

Not necessarily.

_I can't just wait here, hiding._

Maybe she could.

_No. I -I have to do something. I have to figure this out!_

If she lived long enough.

_Okay. I obviously survived in hell long enough to meet this Zetta demon. Maybe I can survive just another night in the human world?_

She slowly edged back between the trucks, making for the alley at their rear. The adjacent building looked new and well-kept, though its name was out of the glowing sphere of the streetlight.

Just as she broke from her cover and was sneaking towards the alley, there was an explosion of white light next to her. Salome shrieked. The white was whirling faster, iridescent rings of Mana spinning around it. Suddenly, the light all bubbled together, and a slight white figure was next to Salome, floating just above the level of the street.

Salome had a swift impression of snow white hair, snow white skin, black-red eyes, and an alarming hoop skirt before the figure whirled to face her, eyes wide with amazement. "Salome? _You're_ not supposed to be here!"

Salome's muscles twitched to go shooting down that alley. Salome somehow managed to hold her ground, though she kept her knife between them.

"Wait a minute." The female demon tapped a dark purple nail against her collarbone. "If you're here, that must mean Alex is- Aw shoot, I don't want to miss out on this!" She spun quickly, disappearing in another flash of light. As she left, she tossed a large bubble towards Salome.

Knowing quite well what this bubble would mean, Salome just barely dodged it. (It landed on one of the sixteen-wheelers, expanding to hold the entire vehicle, trapping it effectively). Then Salome dashed into this alley. She saw the glint of a metal door handle. She hesitated just long enough to ascertain that there were no voices coming from inside before she dashed inside herself.

She was met with a blast of cold air. Feeling as if the rain on her exposed skin had crystallized into ice, Salome hesitantly made her way through the dark. She kept her left hand and her knife extended, just to be sure. With even the tiniest speck of Mana, she'd at least be able to cast a light to see by, but now...

Salome frowned. _What did happen to my Mana?_ She paused, trying to concentrate. _Did I burn myself out?_ After a few moments of unhappy thinking, she continued on.

Eventually Salome banged her knuckles against a wall. She ran her hand along it, feeling flaky cold paint. Her hand hit a light switch. Would it work? That would depend, was this factory still in use? And if it wasn't, would it still be linked to the rest of the complex's electricity?

Salome's hand trembled over the switch. Suppose it worked, and the suddenly lit room alerted all the demons to her presence? She peered through the darkness, unable to locate any light squares that would designate windows. What's more, she hadn't remembered seeing any windows on the ground floor. She took a deep breath._ I'm not going to spend the rest of the night posed like this._ She flipped the switch.

The lights blasted on. Salome cowered against the wall, shading her eyes. After a long moment, she realized nothing devastating had happened and looked around.

She was _surrounded_ by demons.

No. Wait. Just machines. Apparently, her fumbling through the darkness had taken her a grand total of five steps. About three inches more, and she would've walked headlong into the enormous electrical box, gotten tangled up in its wires and started flashing like a strobe light. Machines, fairly sinister-looking even in the light, hulked to either side of her, in various stages of repair. A door was right next to her.

Again, not bothering to listen to reason (just for now), she grasped the handle and hauled the door open. The light spilled up a flight of stairs.

_Hm._ Salome looked back into the basement. Then she started picking her way around the machines, looking for anything that resembled a storage locker. She found a mini fridge, complete with bottled water and pumpkin pie (pumpkin pie?). Recalling that she was still hungry, Salome consumed two slices of pie and half a bottle of water.

A bit past the fridge was the storage locker, squat, metal, square, with a quaint chain wrapped around the handles of the two doors. A heavy padlock was suspended in the middle.

Hm. Salome crouched in front of it. What now? She didn't have any mysterious knowledge of lock picking. She didn't even have a hairpin. She had this knife.

And she had the sudden mental image of ramming that same knife into the side of a passing tank. The knife had pierced clean through the tank's steel hide, diving right through the skull monogrammed on its side. As the tank continued to roar by her, her knife gouged it clear down its length. After another moment, the tank exploded. And just like that, the memory passed.

_Right,_ Salome thought. _Right._ _Hell must've been a fun place._

She put the knife's edge against the chain and made a gentle little swipe.

The heavy chain fell away like gossamer, clattering onto the floor. Salome stared wide-eyed at her knife. After a moment, she pulled herself together and opened the two doors.

There were four shelves, piled with hard hats, gloves, safety goggles and, just imagine that, flashlights.

Rearmed, Salome ascended the stairs. At the first floor, she stopped and peered into the enormous room. Just more machines, crisscrossed by conveyor belts. No guards. Not a good sign, in Salome's opinion.

There was only one more floor after that, but Salome's nerves were stretched taut. She wasn't tired. Yet. Still, she wondered how safe she'd be if she rested here for an hour or so.

She opened the door and shined her light through the room. This appeared to be the manager's office, set in a high balcony. Huge paneled windows looked out over the factory itself. There was a desk in one corner with a computer, a printer. There was a copier to one side as well as two filing cabinets.

And two people sitting on the floor. They looked quickly up, their eyes shining from the flashlight.

The man spoke up first. "Who are you?"

Salome was taken aback. After all she'd heard recently, she wasn't quite sure how to answer that one.


	13. Chapter 13

13

Iltehaan at least provided baths for the three weary travelers. Still shaken by her encounter with A Bao A Qu, Salome slipped eagerly into the warm water and set about scrubbing. When she stepped out of her basin, the water was a pleasantly muddy brown. The suzerain of Iltehaan had provided his guests with robes, and Salome donned hers, happy to feel clean cloth against her clean skin. Her small guest room wasn't bigger than a garret, only holding a comfortable pallet and the washing basin. However, there was a small hand mirror propped against the wall, and Salome admired herself as she combed her hair. When she'd first set out with Seedle and Gar, her hair had fallen to her hips. Over the months it had been cut and recut so often that she just wore it at shoulder-length now. More satisfied with her appearance than she'd been in weeks, she went downstairs to see if Gar and Seedle had made any progress convincing the suzerain to support the Brave Party.

It took them all afternoon to make even the slightest bit of progress. The fat suzerain was unflappably gracious to the samurais, plying them with honey-date wine, carefully braised mutton and stuffed hummingbird. Salome wasn't allowed to eat with the men, but Seedle continued to bring her up in the conversation, how the Sacred Confine had been destroyed, how she was one of only a handful of White Priestesses left in the world, how much the White Priestesses had helped the suzerain in the past, and how the White Priestesses were supporting the Brave Party. The suzerain showed a remarkable skill for dithering.

Salome for her part spent a much pleasanter afternoon. The suzerain was reasonably wealthy, and his small palace had its own pleasure gardens as well as the beginnings of a menagerie. The suzerain had ordered one of his lesser wives to keep the priestess company, and Dunyazad gave Salome a tour of the palace.

It wasn't until they came to the menagerie and were admiring the suzerain's leucrocotta that Dunyazad dropped her hostess demeanor. The leucrocotta was a swift, carnivirous beast that bore an alarming resemblance to a hyena and a wildebeast at the same time. While Salome was trying to sort out her impressions, Dunyazad turned to her and asked, "How is it?"

"It's very strange," Salome admitted, staring at the monster. "It doesn't seem to have any real teeth...just two long blades running behind each lip." She winced as the leucrocotta ripped off the head of its dinner, which was mountain zebra.

"Not that," Dunyazad said, lowering her voice. "I mean, the Brave Party."

Salome turned to the lady, a bit baffled. "How so? I mean, we need support-"

"Not that!" Dunyazad frowned in frustration. Salome stared at her, her tawny brown skin, her thick black hair. Her eyes were as green as Salome's, and she wore a fine gown of orange silk, held with bronze clasps at her shoulders. Combs sparkled in her hair. "I mean...how is it for you? Do they treat you well?"

"Of course," Salome replied, wondering why on earth Dunyazad cared.

"They don't laugh at you?"

Salome half smiled. "They wouldn't dare."

Dunyazad raised her eyebrows. "Are they afraid of you because you're a priestess?"

"It's not fear," Salome reassured her.

"Still...aren't you worried that you'll lose that?"

Salome stared at her blankly.

Dunyazad looked very uncomfortable. "When you have a baby, you won't be a priestess anymore."

Salome frowned. "I'm not going to be having any babies." She became a bit flustered. "White Priestesses renounce all that. The Goddess demands our full attention."

Dunyazad looked doubtful.

Heat blazed into Salome's face. "Oh, you think-! No. Just because I travel with the samurais doesn't mean that..."

Dunyazad gave her a bland stare.

Anger replaced Salome's embarrassment. "Listen, if you can't believe something as simple as that, there's no helping you."

Dunyazad looked quickly away. "Maybe it's true," she said eventually. "But if so, it's only because you're a priestess. If you weren't, you wouldn't have any clue who your baby's father was."

Salome compressed her lips. She counted most of the samurais -not just Seedle and Gar- as her friends. Samurais were sworn not to marry, but that didn't mean they didn't keep women, and most did. Salome didn't approve of this arrangement, but she also knew that Seedle's warriors weren't the sort to indulge in a mass rape. At least, she couldn't imagine them doing it.

"Don't worry," she replied sarcastically. "My honor's quite secure."

"You trust them a lot," Dunyazad said darkly, and then there was a minute or so of silence as they watched the leucrocotta tear into the zebra's ribcage, pulling out the entrails.

"You don't ever worry," Dunyazad asked, still not looking at Salome, "when you're out there in the wilderness, all alone?"

"No," Salome answered. And she answered truthfully. From the start, Seedle and Gar had always treated her as a priestess, not a woman. They didn't touch her unless it was strictly necessary, and they tried to watch their language around her. Salome had never heard that Seedle had ever dallied with any women. His focus on bushido and his characteristic discipline seemed to have led him to total celibacy. Gar's youth had been pretty wild, but his admiration of Seedle, his mentor, had since led him to discipline himself. Salome had traveled with the samurais for a year and a half, shared rooms and tents with them, and had rarely felt anything less than secure.

"How nice," Dunyazad snapped, tears in her eyes. "I suppose they never beat you. And I suppose if you had a baby, they wouldn't take it away from you for some nurse to raise?"

Salome turned away from those tears, inexpressibly sad.

"You should be grateful," Dunyazad hissed.

"I am," Salome replied quietly.

Xxxxxxxxxx

The sun was staining the western horizon red when Salome walked out again, redressed in her own tunic and pants. She made her way up the palace walls. She eyed the guards warily as she passed, but they must've heard that she was a priestess. Salome breathed a faint sigh of relief. Her discussion with Dunyazad had left her rattled; she couldn't imagine living without the automatic respect given to the Goddess' maidens. But more and more, she was realizing that respect was the rarity. She frowned at the guards. If she wasn't a priestess (or if they didn't know), would they - Or was she just being paranoid?

She_ must_ be paranoid, Salome told herself. She made her way along the avenue that topped the wall, a three-foot wide catwalk with its own small railings. Salome perched on the edge, the tops of palm trees rising around her shoulders, the shadowy hills close on the horizon. After a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the warm wind push gently against her, lift her hair. No use. Salome sighed heavily. It was so difficult to meditate outside the Sacred Confine, so hard to hear the Goddess. Her heart grew heavy, as it always did when she thought of her destroyed home, the brutal murder of all her closest friends. Restless and anxious, she began to finger-comb her hair. How could things ever go back to the way they were before? How could they possibly win against Fehran's armies? Were they just wasting their lives?

Salome turned abruptly, aware that she was being watched. She relaxed. "Oh, it's you. Has the suzerain seen reason?"

Seedle, who seemed to have been lost in thought, shook himself, and came over to join her. "Hard to say. I had to drop some threats that you just might curse him with the plague if he doesn't help."

Salome frowned. "Seedle -you know I wouldn't!"

Seedle chuckled heartily. "But he doesn't." Seedle had come to her side, but he didn't sit.

"Is anything wrong?"

"Of course not," he replied levelly. Nothing in his manner suggested whether it was the truth or a lie.

"Where's Gar?"

"I don't think the stuffed hummingbird agreed with him."

Salome almost leapt to say that she'd heal him -but no, the samurais _hated_ it when she did that, unless it was absolutely necessary. Men and their I-am-a-rock-so-let-me-suffer philosophies.

Salome realized then that Seedle was studying her with a slight frown on his face. She shifted uncomfortably. "What's wrong?"

"How many times do I have to say it?" he answered, voice still level. "Nothing is wrong."

Salome raised her eyebrow, but decided to let him have it his way.

"Have you been enjoying yourself?" Seedle asked, voice more natural now.

"The suzerain's palace is interesting, if small," Salome replied. She considered mentioning how he seemed to treat his wives, then decided she wouldn't. "I just wish I knew if anything is going to come of this."

Seedle put his hands on his hips. "Having the suzerain's support would be helpful, but it's not essential to our success. The Brave Party will fight on, with or without that silk-wrapped blob of suet."

Salome laughed delightedly. "Is he really? I didn't get to see him."

"Damn," Seedle said with feeling. He glanced quickly at her to see if she'd been offended by the profanity, then went on. "All I can think when I see him is how our men were starving last summer."

"Hm, you want to haul his pantries back to headquarters?"

"No, I want to haul _him_ back to headquarters. He'd last us the rest of the year."

Seedle grinned, seeing that Salome was helpless with laughter. When she recovered, she said, "All right, if I fall backwards off this balcony, it's entirely your fault."

Seedle looked down his nose at her. "I'd catch you by your hair."

"So where are you and Gar going next?" She didn't add that all three of them intended to find an excuse for her to come as well.

Sure enough, Seedle said, "I think you'll be coming with us. I don't trust the suzerain yet. He could very well hand you over to Fehran for another territory to govern. As for moving on, I feel it's time we get back to headquarters. We've been away for a month and a half, and a lot's been happening. There was that attack at Seygar just a few days ago... I want to squash any rumors as fast as I can. I also want to see what some of the spies have been noticing."

"Or how many spies are left," Salome added a bit darkly. They'd intended to meet with a contact here in Iltehaan, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Exactly."

Salome found that she'd been rubbing her wrist anxiously. She stopped. "Seedle, do you know if we're winning?"

Seedle raised his eyebrow. "What do you mean? The Brave Party's still alive, it's been winning battles, and Fehran's uneasy. I'd say that's pretty good."

"But for how long? Sure, we're strong enough to rebel, but are we strong enough to withstand a war?" Her voice trailed off, remembering last year's harsh summer. The Brave Party had been besieged, and hundreds of their soldiers and non-combatants had died of infected wounds and typhoid. Now the Brave Party was on the move again, but for how long? And how long before Fehran captured the few lords that were their allies?

Seedle's glare blazed angrily down at her. "I wouldn't have started this war if I didn't think we could win it! I'm not like Fehran. I don't want to waste lives just for the sake of seeing blood!" After a moment of glaring down at her, he seemed to realize that her anxiety came from fear, not from any lack of trust in him. His face softened. "Fehran will be dead before either of us are, I feel sure of that. And when I'm king, I'll have the Sacred Confine rebuilt."

Salome's eyes went wide. "Seedle -do you mean that?" She leaned forward eagerly and came just short of grabbing his hand. "Really?"

"Of course I mean that," Seedle said, a bit gruff suddenly, but she could tell he was still pleased. "And you will be the priestesses' representative in my court."

Salome wasn't so sure about that. She was longing to return to her quiet home and live the rest of her life out of the public eye. She continued to smile, however. Moments of happiness were too rare to ruined. She looked down at her clasped hands, sending a quick prayer. _Please, let it all happen. Let it happen soon. Don't keep us under the black cloud of war for another year._ She sighed. _Please._ When Salome looked up, she found that Seedle was studying her again. This time, however, he was smiling.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Very Happy Note: Wonderful news, people! You can now view the cover art for both _In My Name_ and _Wishes_ in my Elfwood Fanquarter gallery and tell me what you think of them (you can find the addresses under News in my profile). I suggest you check out the_ Wishes_ cover while you still can. For some reason, whenever I upload that image to a site, something bad happens. It disappeared from my home gallery the first time, the second time it went up my home gallery was removed within a few weeks...and when I submitted it in my Elfwood ticket, the ticket was in limbo for six weeks...Yeah, be sure to check it out before its unusual curse causes the Internet to collapse or the Milky Way galaxy to go up in flames. _

14

"Who _are_ you?" the man on the floor demanded a second time, hysteria creeping into his voice. "If -if you're one of the demons-"

Salome stared at them, the tall male and the much smaller figure. She deliberately didn't answer the question. If their thinking she was a demon gave her any advantage, she'd grab it.

But then she realized that the small figure was whimpering, and that it was just a little girl. The cool opportunist in Salome reluctantly bowed out. "I'm not a demon," she said, angling the flashlight away from their glare-blinded eyes. "What are you doing here? Are the demons holding you hostage?"

"Yes," the man said. Salome realized, by his voice, he was around her own age. "They've taken over the whole complex."

_And are feeling pretty cocky, _Salome reasoned, _to not leave any guards._ _But then, why should they worry? Humans are small fry._ She noticed there were wide windows that looked out into the night. She abruptly flicked her flashlight off and strode into the room, keeping far enough away from the windows so that she wouldn't cast a silhouette but still close enough to see by. "Who are you? Why are they keeping you here?"

"I can't trust you," the man fired back. Salome saw the moonlight reflected off his small oval spectacles. She also thought she saw longish black hair, pulled into a ponytail. He was wearing a long white coat, like a scientist. The little girl was entirely in his shadow.

"That's nice," Salome responded. "But I'm trying to get out of here too, and if I know something about you people, maybe I can-" She thoughts about her chances. "_Maybe_ I can get all of us out of this." Never mind that the sooner she earned their trust, the sooner she could find out what they knew.

The man seemed to mull this over. Salome edged her way over to the manager's desk and tilted the digital clock towards her. Its green numbers read 3:41.

"We're Lyr Miakoda," the man said. "And Dacia Vu."

Salome pivoted back in their direction. "Oh. I read about you two. Isn't she the daughter of some important official?"

"Of course she is!" Miakoda snapped. "She's only the daughter of Geoffrey Vu, the head of the nation's weapon development!"

Salome couldn't resist a slightly malicious smirk. "And your boss?"

"That's beside the point!"

"So you _are_ a scientist." Salome took a few seconds to connect the dots. "This is just a wild guess, but is Mr. Vu developing some secret weapon?"

Miakoda leapt to his feet. "You_ are_ one of them!"

Salome frowned wearily. "No, I'm not. Do you see any pointy ears?"

"How else could you know about the Chimera Project?"

"I overheard one of the demons talking about it. He said he wants this weapon. But I don't understand it." She eyed Miakoda, wondering just how many cards were necessary for her to show. "I know a bit about demons, and their technology is generally far superior to anything humans could dream up. So why do they want this human weapon?"

Miakoda was staring at her fixedly. He also seemed to be examining the cards in his hands. "Let's just say that the Chimera Project can impress even demons."

Salome shook her head. "Come on. I need to hear more than that."

"It's...well.. parts of it come from the Netherworlds themselves."

Salome eyes rounded. "What? But that would mean...that would mean that demons are dealing with live humans directly." She thought about this, and the more she mulled it over, the less the idea staggered her. After all, she thought she might've heard of something similar before (somewhere). Something about humans of a different universe attempting to take over a Netherworld...with the help of a renegade angel... an angel with a face that could stop a clock, a speedometer and a life-support machine all with one frown...Aw, she couldn't remember it.

Salome thought on. _Obviously Alex and Drake want this Project. And Alex is luring Zetta here for some reason. And I'm important to this Zetta. And then there's that book. And those other demons-_ Her head was beginning to pound. "So, why do they want you? Did you help develop Chimera?"

"Well, in part."

"Do you know who let the Netherworld parts come through?"

"No."

Salome eyed him. "If you're lying," she said distinctly, "I'll take this knife and perforate you like a doily."

The little girl gasped. There was another whimper.

"Why do they want her?" Salome asked, a bit more gently.

"They thought..." Miakoda sighed as he looked down at the girl. "They thought Miss Dacia might know where her father has hidden Chimera. In its completed form, it's just a disc, no larger than a button. However, she doesn't know. Even_ I _don't know if Mr. Vu has completed it."

Salome tucked her knife into the denim straps across her thigh, then she crouched down on her heels. "Hey Dacia," she said softly, "are you all right? Did the demons hurt you?"

She finally had a clear view of the girl. She had a messy halo of short blond curls and big eyes that were probably blue. She wore a hair clip that glittered with a real diamond. A string of expensive opals was around her chubby white wrist. She wore a mess of pink velvet and frothy tides of lace. Her patent leather shoes were so shiny, Salome could've fixed her hair in them. In her arms she held a fluffy dog. It looked a like a golden retriever puppy except that it was much, much too small, probably only six inches from nose tip to tail. A pearl collar dangling with silver charms was around its fluffy neck.

The girl sniffed. "They won' let me go _out_!"

"She isn't hurt," Miakoda said softly.

The girl looked at her puppy. "Bonsai's hungry. He's chewing my dress."

"How often do they feed you?"

Miakoda narrowed his already-narrow eyes. "A big lion thing comes and brings us take-out dinners in the morning."

_Hm, I'll have to be out of here in a few hours. Can I risk taking them too?_

_No. There's no way I can. That girl's what, four?_

"Bonsai's a special dog," Dacia was saying. "He's a Bonsai Golden Retriever. He came from the very fist litter of Bonsai Golden Retrievers. My daddy's been specially breeding doggies."

"Nice to have a hobby," Salome commented vaguely.

"He's already full-grown." Dacia squeezed her pet. Despite its furiously wagging tail, its shiny black eyes were beginning to bulge. Salome studied it without even thinking. Sickeningly cute. It had a slightly curved back, like the back of a rabbit, and its rear end was extremely fluffy.

_Alex wants to keep them alive for information... But he's drawing this Zetta into the human world. Does that mean he's close to his goal?_

_Does he...plan to turn Chimera on this planet? Or does he just want it for the interNetherworld wars?_

Just as Salome was thinking that she really had to make some decision, the door to the manager's office blasted open, slamming headlong into Miakoda. Dacia screamed, and Bonsai began to snarl angrily, all of his furry body vibrating. Salome had risen into a crouch, knife out. She scanned the office for an escape route. Not one, unless it was through a window.

"Ah hah!"

Salome recoiled. It was that ghastly three-headed Bone-Bat-Girl-Pectoral Monster.

"It's her! I _knew_ that was Salome!" the Micky section declared, pointing the index finger of one of its four hands at her.

"Hm hm hm," laughed the Ophelia head. "This is a discovery worth making. Now then, why don't we-"

"What's going _on_ here?" a deep, rumbling voice said to the right. Salome's eyes went to the windows. In the thin dark of predawn, she could see something hovering outside the factory. Something large.

"Babylon!" the Micky thing called. "We've found Salome!"

There was a pause. "Who?" rumbled the voice.

Salome was good at finding her chances. She grabbed Dacia's arm and went running for the door (it had worked last time). The Dryzen dragon head saw her coming, and she just barely pulled Dacia away from a tide of fire. Then the fire alarms in the office went off, spraying the humans, demons and dog liberally with water. The triple thing began to thrash around wildly -"It's in my eyes!" the Micky thing screamed. Salome dove through the door, down the stairs, Miakoda clattering after her. Dacia was little more than deadweight, so Miakoda grabbed her by the ankles and they slung her along between them.

"I'm so confused," Salome heard the big Babylon voice rumble, before she slammed the door to the basement area behind her. "Come on!" she hissed. "We have to hide -somehow!"

"We-" Miakoda gasped. "We can't -go on -like this forever!"

"_I_ can!" Salome assured him. "Listen," she said some time later, when they were all a bit calmer and hiding behind a forklift. They hadn't heard any further noise from upstairs. "I have to find out what's going on." _Cute, how I'm settling the fate of the planet on my shoulders. Damn, what is going on?_ "I need to be able to move fast. So... can you guys find any place to hide?"

Miakoda gave her a blank look.

Salome came that close to going into orbit. "Will you please work with me? You're a scientist, for Magog's sake! Use that wet gym sock you call a brain!"

Just as Salome was sharing her excellent advice, the triple thing crashed into the basement.

The sight of the monstrosity drove all logic from their minds. They scattered. Miakoda dragged Dacia in one direction. She dropped her puppy and commenced screeching "BONSAI!" Bonsai went bouncing in Salome's direction. "SAVE MY PUPPY!" Salome grabbed the warm twitchy fluffball in her free hand, already halfway to the door. She glanced over her shoulder. The triple thing had Miakoda cornered. There was no way she could save them. But-

As Salome was staring at the scientist and the little girl, one foot out the door, the white girl demon appeared in the air between them. Her black-red eyes went wide. "What the hell? I thought I bubbled you!" Another bubble appeared between her hands. Even before she tossed it at Salome, Salome was dashing through the door. She swerved away from the rotunda and its globe of light, skirting the ring of factories. Any darkness. Any cover. She cast a frantic look at the sky but saw no sign of the enormous confused Babylon creature. She was closing in on the electric metal fence that entirely encircled the factory complex. Great. Peachy keen. Absolutely spiffaroo.

Salome skidded to a hall, her breath coming in deep, pained gasps. What could she possibly do?

_Boingy-boingy boingy!_ came from behind her. Salome whirled.

It was the white demon's bubble, following her. Unlike Alex's Happy Bubble, which had been modeled on Mana-proof glass, this bubble was based on all-purpose rubber, and it bounced joyously across the rotunda towards Salome, gleaming in the lamplight. Salome stared at it out of horrified, dilated eyes.

In one moment, the Boingy Bubble bounced upon her, enclosing her entirely. In the next moment, it made another flying bounce and sailed over the top of the electric fence. And, just like that, it went bouncing cheerily down the back streets of New Blackcastle.


	15. Chapter 15

15

Even Boingy Bubbles are subject to the laws of physics, and Salome's Boingy Bubble eventually rolled to a weary stop in front of a hair salon on Thistlehedge Avenue. Salome, who'd been forced to bounce along with her bubble, collapsed in an exhausted heap, thoroughly worn out from the night. Bonsai wriggled his way free of her hand and went wandering tipsily along the confines of the bubble. He came back and began to enthusiastically sniff Salome's hair.

With a supreme effort that nearly brought tears to her eyes, Salome surrendered any hope for sleeping or resting. Dawn wasn't far off. She was sure that the sky had already grown lighter. Dawn meant people. People meant gawking. Salome had no time to be gawked at. How to get free? And, once she was free, what then? _Tell Igrayne, of course. _The sorceress had already been concerned about the demons, and she could alert the correct authorities. Salome gazed around her._ If I can even find my way back to the NicElyns' place._

_Rubber_, Salome thought. _Rubber can be cut with a knife._ She picked up her knife and leaned forward to see if she could poke it through. However, the moment she shifted her weight, she shifted the bubble's center of the gravity, and it was off rolling again. In a panicked surge of adrenaline, Salome shoved her knife into her duffel bag, not wanting to impale herself as she was tipped forward -on to her elbows -onto her head -crashing down on her tailbone- hitting her knees -elbows again -Bonsai slamming into her face -duffel bag hitting the back of her neck -

Then the street hit a decline, and the bubble wasn't rolling, it was boinging again.

"Damn it!" Salome screamed. "What the- How am I supposed to -DAMN IT!"

_Boingy boingy boingy!_ went the bubble in the faint pink light of dawn.

Then the road leveled off. As the bubble hit the level, it rebounded at a sharp eighty-degree angle, projecting itself two hundred feet into the eastern sky. Salome stared wild-eyed below her. This single bound had to be carrying them halfway across downtown New Blackcastle. Then, sensing that all was not right in her elastic world, she looked ahead. She had one glorious view of the sun-drenched dawn, piles of neon rose and orange clouds under an indigo sky, before she realized she also saw the black outline of a tall, sharp church steeple.

She didn't even have the satisfaction of seeing her life flash before her eyes (it would've been so interesting to watch) before the Boingy Bubble impacted. There was a rushing, sucking of air all throughout the bubble. Ever-vigilant, Salome clutched both the bag and the dog as the bubble went whizzing across the metropolis' horizon, zigging, zagging, ricocheting off non-existent walls, tumbling through the air like a trapeze artist before it abruptly came to rest on the flat top of the New Blackcastle Museum of Modern Art.

Xxxxxxxxx

When Salome came to herself, she found that she was lying prone on the roof, her duffel bag clutched in her right hand, a small fluffy-bottomed dog on her chest. A large rubber bubble had deflated and was lying across her legs. A crowd of people wearing black had gathered around her.

"She wakes," a man with small glasses and a goatee said. "Brilliant! She's re-enacting her own birth. The bubble represents the womb, the duffel bag, containing all of her material inhibitions, is her super-ego, and the dog, a creature of untamed brutality, is her id! Sheer genius!"

"No," a woman with long brown hair and a beauty mark on her chin spoke up. "She symbolizes freedom, unfettered femininity floating blithe and unshackled in a bubble above man's patriarchal oppression!"

"And the dog?" a girl with curly red hair asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" the woman demanded. "Dogs are supposed to be man's best friend, but she is demonstrating that they are _woman's_ best friend!"

A blonde man was crouching next to her. "What an amazing display of performance art! We all saw it from the parking lot. What's your name? Do you have a studio?"

"I-" For a moment, Salome thought she had amnesia all over again. Then she remembered that she was Salome the Traitor and that she was running for her life from demons with a Bonsai Golden Retriever. Right. "I need to get up."

The blonde man jumped to his feet and flung his arms up to the morning sky. "Arise, O Sun of Delight! Cast thine enlightening rays over the besmirched earth!"

Salome climbed unsteadily to her feet, rubbing her lower back. She placed Bonsai in her bag, safe among the soft silk folds of her harlot outfit, and slung the bag over her shoulder. When she looked up, she realized the crowd of artists was clapping.

"Thank you," Salome said, feeling supremely inane. "Thanks. It's...always nice to be recognized for one's art. I'll, um, see you later when I ...give a show. You can keep my bubble."

"Autograph it?" the blonde man asked.

"Oh...Uh, pen?" One of them produced a pen. Salome scribbled _Zetta Xxxxxxxxxx_ across one corner. "See you." She limped unsteadily for the door to the roof. The crowd of artists came chattering behind her, carrying the deflated bubble tenderly in their arms.

Xxxxxxxxxx

The blonde man (who claimed his name was Petruccio), was the brother of the museum's manager, whom he persuaded to let Salome relax for free in the food court. Petruccio kept going on about her courageous genius, her creative élan, and kept insisting that she try a veggie sprout smoothie. Salome settled back at a table with her cup of (it looked like) algae, and watched the morning news from the TV suspended in the cafeteria's corner. Her own bit of performance art was one of the morning features (Salome cringed painfully as she saw herself whizzing across the daybreak). She sat up when she saw that the next feature dealt with Vu Industries. That must be Dacia's father. Salome stroked the dog in her duffel bag a bit worriedly.

"Doctors have been called to the scene," the anchorwoman was saying, "and are trying to trace the source of the widespread stomach flu among the employees and scientists of Vu Industries. About the only common denominator that can be found is that all of them ate breakfast in the building this morning. In a strange twist of fate, the only things been served for breakfast were lime gelatin and tapioca pudding."

Salome remembered Alex's amails. _He's sent his underlings to incapacitate Vu Industries. He must be trying to find Chimera today._

After she slurped up her smoothie, she thanked Petruccio, signed his forehead, and went back onto the streets, determined to find answers. She started by pulling out Igrayne's cell phone and calling her number.

"You never told me you were a performance artist," Igrayne said as soon as she picked up. Salome noticed a familiar suspicious note in the sorceress' voice.

"I'm discovering hidden talents every day. Igrayne -I've seen the demons. They are definitely here in New Blackcastle."

There was a long pause from Igrayne. "You've seen them? How? How many? Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure. I've been their prisoner. I've seen about-" She took a moment to count. "Ten in all. And at least two of them are Overlords. I've heard that one of them is the most powerful in the cosmos. And I know what he's after, but I don't want to go into it here." People passing her on the street were giving her odd looks.

"Right," Igrayne said decisively. "Good, okay. Can you meet me on the corner of Caldur and Bainbridge?"

Salome scanned her surroundings. She saw a street she recognized a few blocks off. "Sure. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Good," Igrayne said. There was another pause. "We need to talk."

Xxxxxxxxx

"We need to talk." That was what Igrayne had said. Now where was she?

Salome had been waiting on the corner of Caldur and Bainbridge for exactly ten and half hours. Sure, she'd done some pacing, she'd gone and used the Laundromat's restroom, and she'd bought a hotdog from a sidewalk vendor, being sure to feed lumps of it to Bonsai. But there hadn't been one sign of Igrayne or Alfred._ Did the demons intercept my call? No, don't be silly._

The afternoon wore on. Occasionally people, recognizing her from the morning news, stopped for her autograph, to discuss art, or to tell her what a loony she was. The shadows angled. It was sunset. Then it was twilight. Fewer people passed. No Igrayne.

Then it was night. There was almost no one out. A prostitute joined Salome at her corner, informed her that this territory was taken, and suggested (quite colorfully), that she buzz off. Salome took her advice, her heart thudding rapidly. What had happened to Igrayne? What would happen to her, Salome, now? She drew her knife, flashing its blade across the partial moonlight. Just in case someone had any ideas. Bonsai barked cheerily and wagged his fluffy tail.

Few cars passed. Salome was looking for a likely building to rest against. She was exhausted, her legs trembling. She'd hardly slept in two days, and the coffee she'd had around twilight wouldn't keep her going much longer. _I bet I'm going to die tonight._

Just then she heard sounds of a struggle in a nearby alley. It sounded like two men grappling. Salome backed hurriedly away, not wanting to be involved. She could just hear them.

One was a deep voice, low and throaty. "I will not tell you my master's orders."

The other voice was masculine, less throaty. "Hmph. What, you want me to kill you? Heh, what else do I expect from Alex's cronies?"

Salome stopped backing away. She reaffirmed her grip on the knife.

"You are just jealous," the deep voice said slowly. "You are jealous that Lord Alex has finally defeated you."

"Like HELL I'm defeated!" the second voice raged. Salome heard the quick sound of steel entering -then exiting- substantial flesh. A blaze of white-blue light blasted out of the alley, crackling with electricity. Something large hit the pavement. Then Salome heard the second man: "HYAAAAAAAA hahahahaaaaaaaa! It'll take more than a half-assed thunder giant to take ME out! I'm - Well, you KNOW who I am! HYAAAAAAAA ha ha haaaaa!"

This didn't sound like somewhere a nice human wanted to be. Salome began to back away again. Smoke and sparks were boiling out of the alley. She saw the flash of red -fire? Then she heard footsteps coming out of the alley.

Salome checked her cover. None. She was standing in a patch of moonlight, backed against a video rental store. The nearest alley was twelve feet off to her left. The nearest awning was twenty feet to her right. The nearest parked car was across the street. Feeling that she was at last a dead dodo, Salome shifted into a defensive stance.

A tall man in black stepped out of the alley, white sparks springing off his bootheels where they impacted the pavement. A long cape beat around him in a fitful wind. He was dressed all in leather, leather pants and a leather jacket that left most of his chest bare. He had a long, bloody black sword in his right hand, his left enveloped by writhing purple Mana. His skin was deathly pale and drawn over sharp features, a thin-bladed nose and long, pointed ears. His hair was -peculiarly enough- a mass of flames. His eyes were pure white, lined with slashing black tattoos.

The demon warrior looked around. Then he grinned and began to rotate his hips and do a sidestep down the dark street, pumping his arms in rhythm. "Go Zetta -go Zetta! Hooz da man, hooz da deMON MAN!"

Salome's defensive crouch went a bit limp, the tip of her knife sparking in the moonlight.

Noticing it, the demon -Zetta- jumped and whirled, sword extended towards her. Salome tensed. This was it.

A long, electric silence stretched between them.

Then Zetta's eyes went wide.

"What the hell?" he whispered. It was suddenly so quiet, she could hear him perfectly.

Zetta stared at her a long hard moment. Then he said, "Salome."


	16. Chapter 16

16

_My beloved Salome will be revived in my name, Lord Zetta._

_Beloved Salome._

_Beloved Salome._

Salome pressed herself against the shop wall, terrified at the idea of being any demon's beloved. "Stay back!" she shouted.

The demon -Zetta, she reminded herself, this would be Zetta- frowned at her. Then he glanced down at his sword, and, though Salome didn't blink, it suddenly disappeared. Zetta straightened out of his combat stance and continued to eye her. Salome saw his gaze drop to her quivering legs, and she instantly tensed the muscles in her calves. "Damn," she heard him say, sounding subdued. "Wasn't expecting a reaction like this. You really_ must _have amnesia."

"Of _course_ I have amnesia!" Salome hissed back, voice slightly hysterical. "That's what I keep telling everyone! Now listen -all of you demons need to leave me alone!"

Zetta had been watching her the whole time, but Salome had the distinct feeling he hadn't been really listening to her. He smiled, fangs catching the moonlight. "You sure you really don't remember me? After all we've been through? Not remember the most badass freakin Overlord in the cosmos?"

Something about that particular string of words deeply stirred Salome's memory, but she didn't give herself time to examine it. "Get away!" she hissed again. She backed along the store wall, heart hammering. How did she know this demon? What had they "been through"? What were they to each other? Salome didn't want to consider that, but she was afraid she might already know.

Zetta had started to follow her, still smiling a bit mockingly, but he stopped short again. He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "You-"

"I don't remember!" Salome shouted, before he could say anything else. "I don't know you, I don't know anything, so don't-" She didn't know what she didn't want him to do. _Don't prove to me that you know more about me than I do? Don't prove that I'm your beloved? _She compressed her lips, face white.

"Yikes!" Zetta backed a few steps away from her. "You're in one of your moods. Well, I guess you wouldn't forget how to throw those." He frowned in thought again, considering her from a distance of fifteen feet. "Hm."

He frowned in deep thought. "Awkward, this."

He frowned harder. "Really awkward."

Salome had to speak slowly so that not a single syllable shook. "Just let me go."

"In the middle of the night? Without any Mana? Don't be an idiot."

They stared at each other for a long time, Salome cataloging all the reasons why she couldn't possibly trust him and had to get away.

"So what do you remember?" the demon said abruptly.

"None of your business!"

He narrowed his eyes irritably. "And you don't know who I am?"

Salome faltered. "I heard you say your name is Zetta."

"That's right. I'm Zetta, the most badass freakin Overlord in the cosmos."

Wonderful. Another Overlord. Salome's initial surge of hysteria was ebbing. She eyed him a bit maliciously. "I'm sure I heard that Alex is the most powerful Overlord."

Zetta's hair blazed with rage. His cape went flying up in its own miniature cyclone, and sparks showered from his hands. "**I** am the most badass freakin Overlord in the cosmos! You're lucky you have amnesia, Salome!"

Salome straightened out of her semi-cowering. "Listen, I need to go. I don't want to get mixed up in whatever you demons are fighting over. I just want to get to safety." (Forget her earlier resolutions to stop Alex.) She went on. "I don't care about my past, all right? I don't care who I was or what the demons want with me. I'm alive now, and I'm going to stay that way!"

Zetta laughed. "Really?" he asked, almost drawing the word out to three syllables. "Well, it doesn't look like you've changed much. I wonder... Dammit, I wonder how I can bring your memories back."

"Don't!"

Zetta gave her a complicated look, partway thoughtful, partway absolutely over-the-edge annoyed, and partway...partway desperate. "Hmph, you still know how to make my life hell too. Hmm." His eyes lit up. "Wait a minute -I know what I can do! As soon as I find Trenia, I'll write in her that you'll remember everything! Of course! It's brilliant! Hyaaaaa haaaa, I'm not the top Overlord for nothing! Right, so you'll remember everything and then I - Wait a minute. You have to be in my Netherworld for Trenia to work on you. Dammit! Great, what now? I can't leave you like this. I need to -Wait, what did Trenia say? That it'd be kinder to leave you without your memories? But -I'm here now! You're here! We're together for the first time since -and- Salome!" He shot her a burning look, just in time to see how cross-eyed she'd become in the last sixty seconds.

Zetta cleared his throat with an effort. "Uhm, okay, maybe not. Listen, I need to beat down Alex and -"

Just then, a minivan full of eight enormous blue men pulled up. Salome had just enough time to watch them pop out of their vehicle, each of them whipping out a ring of drums, before the one on point proclaimed, "Lord Zetta, you have killed thunder giant lieutenant Orsino. Even if you were not already battling Lord Alex, this would be a clear provocation for war. Per our master's orders, we have come to obliterate you."

Zetta's sword was back in his hands. "I don't have the time to waste, Raiden."

But Raiden had already turned from Zetta. "Lady Salome," he said, and alarm speared through her, "Lord Alex captured you. You are his legitimate prisoner of war. You have no right to go breaking out of his Happy Bubble. Per our master's orders, we have come to restore you to captivity."

Zetta groaned. "What is _with_ Alex and all these rules? NOW DIE!" He lunged forward, a wedge of burgundy fire shooting out of his sword. All eight blue men (thunder giants...was _that _what they were called? Thunder thighs maybe) went somersaulting through the air, and the minivan did three loop-de-loops before it exploded like a firework. Salome was dodging chunks of flaming shrapnel when her arm was grabbed so violently she lost blood circulation. "Shake a leg!" Zetta shouted, dragging her after him at a run. "That's not going to stop them for long!"

They just barely swerved out of the way of Raiden, who had touched down directly in front of them. Zetta lobbed a fireball at him as they passed. Salome was both alarmed and deeply miffed. "I thought you said you were the most badass freakin Overlord in the cosmos!"

"I am!" Zetta insisted. They ran right into another thunder giant. Luckily (for them), Zetta had been running with his very sharp sword directly in front of them. Zetta barely had time to clear his blade before he skewered the next thunder giant in its substantial leg. "But I'm kind of in remission right now!"

Zetta pulled both of them down a dark alley. The alley was immediately lit neon blue-white as Raiden sent a spear of lightning after them. Zetta deflected it with his sword blade before shoving Salome in front of him. "Keep running!"

Salome took his advice, but she didn't have to_ like_ it. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

The minivan's fender flew over their heads and crashed just in front of them (apparently demons didn't have to be in the Netherworlds to find a weapon in everything). Salome skidded to a halt but couldn't avoid slamming into the fender, hitting her leg hard. Zetta skidded to a slightly more collected stop behind her, but he shoved her forward. "Keep moving!"

Salome tottered back into a headlong run, ignoring the bruise that was forming up her left shin. "I'm not taking orders from you!"

"You prefer blue and blubbery?"

Salome was peripherally aware of him lunging behind to stab another thunder giant. "Use-" She gasped for air, coming to an unsteady halt. "Block the alley-"

"Good idea." By the time Zetta had said that, another thunder giant had rushed up, and he was able to make a barricade of two 300 pound demons. "Come on, it won't stop them long!"

They went hurtling along. It was pitch black, and Salome only avoided tripping by sheer luck. More than often, her foot rolled on an uncrushed beer can, and once she splashed into a puddle of something unsavory that sprayed her all the way up her right thigh. She blinked uselessly in the shadows, certain that she was going to get a faceful of brick wall at any moment. Zetta remained a step or so behind her, constantly looking over his shoulder.

"Do you-" Salome huffed, "have any clue where we're going?" Never mind that she wasn't going anywhere with him.

"I'm...pretty sure -Yeah, here we are!"

Salome skidded to another halt as they entered bright moonlight. They were in a small square parking lot at the back of a seedy liquor store. Zetta stopped next to her and watched the alley closely. After several minutes, he seemed to decide that their pursuit had either been wounded out of fighting or had just given up for now.

"Okay," Salome said, voice with a perceptibly bitter edge, "what are we doing _here_?"

"Hey, do you see any thunder giants?" Zetta replied, voice just as caustic. His sword disappeared. "Besides, this is where I parked." He headed for the cars.

"How nice," Salome said, edging away from the cars. Could she run now? How long would she last?

"Nice try, babe," Zetta said. He held out his right hand, and she came shooting against her will towards him. He stopped her just short of his open palm.

"Let go!"

Zetta was unlocking one of the cars, an unprepossessing black four-seater. "Right, right, you don't trust me, it doesn't make any difference."

"But-"

"Listen up, I'm not going to let Alex capture you again. The fewer advantages that bastard has the better. Besides-" Salome saw a ghost of that same complicated look in his eyes before he opened the door. "Where else are you going to go?"

"Well," Salome said between clenched teeth, "give me a moment to think about it and I'll _tell_ you."

Zetta rolled his eyes. "Gog and Magog, Salome, we don't have a lot of spare time." But he turned away from her. Salome backed several steps away from him, trying to compose herself. She watched as he pulled a small remote out of his pocket and angled it towards the car. In a moment, the humble little vehicle was bristling with any number of spikes, roll-bars and mounted guns. In another moment, it was just a car again.

Salome turned away from them both._ What can I do? Alex wants to recapture me. I can't face demons alone. But does that mean I should cozy up to a demon like this? Especially one who...knows who I really am. Do they all know?_

_My beloved Salome will be revived in my name, Lord Zetta._

Salome went cold. _This demon is the one who brought me back to life._ She turned to look at him. Zetta was sitting crosslegged on the hood of his car and scratching the bridge of his nose. Salome turned away. _Can I trust him? Of all the people I've met, he's the one person I'm indebted to._

_Shut up, Salome! He's a demon!_

_My beloved Salome will be revived._

_My beloved Salome._

Salome looked at him again, trying to imagine feeling any sort of warmth for him.

She felt cold and lost. And resigned. She walked back to the demon. "I don't trust you."

"Yeah," Zetta said, giving her bland look. "I kind of figured that out on my own."

Salome frowned and, not liking one thing in the world at that moment, sat down in the car's passenger seat.

"Good," Zetta said. He unfolded his legs and lazily kicked the door closed. He slid off the hood and walked around to the driver's seat. He opened the door, sat inside, and flicked on the interior light.

Salome jumped -and then was a bit reassured. This, in her opinion, was what a car was supposed to look like. Never mind the deep red dragon-hide interior, the dashboard was arrayed with six gun mounts; the only weaknesses in the bullet proof windshield were the holes for the guns to be angled through. The outsides of the windshield wipers were thick with spikes, besides from the fact that the windshield fluid and defroster obviously could dispense poison and battery acid. There were no fewer than ten strategically placed mirrors, giving both the driver and passenger a complete panoramic view of their surroundings. There was already an anti-tank gun propped in the passenger seat's gun mount, and Salome fingered its length with a bit of satisfaction. She looked over her headrest, noticing that some of the floor panels had been left open, revealing a tidy cache of bazookas. The back seats were given over to two impressive grenade launchers, already leveled with the windows. A gatling gun stood ready to be aimed out of the sunroof. She could guess that all the lights, including the Cyclops light, were probably lasers, and she thought she could see blades rimming each hubcap. Facing forward, she saw that the rearview mirror had been hung with three black and red fuzzy dice, all showing sixes. For some reason, the sight of all this made Salome feel much better. There weren't any seat belts though. Rats and double rats.

"Okay," Zetta said, withdrawing a Makai card from his jacket and swiping it across the car's ignition. "Let me just hide all this outside stuff back in the thirteenth dimension." He snapped his fingers. The car reassumed its mild-mannered alter-ego. He checked the clock on the dash, which read 10:03. "We need to find some place to collect ourselves." He backed out of the parking lot, narrowly avoided hitting the side of the liquor store, then started trundling carefully up the wrong side of the street. "Dammit," he muttered, "it's hard to stay on these puny little streets. Why bother?"

"Mm," Salome said, edging as far away from him as possible. She put her duffel bag at her feet, near a semiautomatic. She attempted to stretch but narrowly avoided gashing herself on one of the spare swords strapped to the ceiling. Though she fought not to show it, the fact that she still hadn't really slept in the past two days was rapidly catching up with her. The soothing motion of the car and the sound of its engine weren't helping matters either.

"Alex doesn't have much more time than we do," Zetta was saying. "I'm not sure what he's after, but he wants it fast. And if Alex wants it," Zetta swerved to avoid a fire hydrant, "he'd better not get it."

"Mm," Salome said.

"But... I'm not sure how soon I should strike. Damn, I really need to find out what Pram and Valvoga have heard. Do you remember who they are?"

"Mm," Salome said. She jumped as she saw Zetta glance over at her.

"What, do you need some coffee?" He reached above to the car's ceiling and pulled down a collapsible shelf with a collapsible coffee maker full of percolating collapsible coffee. The next shelf was full of assorted mugs.

Salome eyed them through an uneasy doze. "Mm."

"Fine," Zetta said. "We'll stop here for a couple of hours." Salome noticed that they had parked in front of motel. The last thing she was awake to see was Zetta shut down the car and pull out his cellphone.


	17. Chapter 17

17

Salome stretched luxuriously, then shifted to avoid capsizing a samurai's plate of food. The samurai gave her polite nod as he passed her alcove and joined the rest of the soldiers in the headquarters' grand hall. Salome settled back in her niche, watching the soldiers eat dinner. She'd already had hers and was simply enjoying being back in relative safety. She, Seedle and Gar had returned early that afternoon, and General Heketsu had immediately snapped Seedle up to confer with him. Gar was eating below, in such high spirits that he had a curvy girl on his knee. Her name was Shirina, and she was one of the army's laundresses. She and Gar were fairly well acquainted, especially when Seedle wasn't present. Salome frowned with disapproval and looked away.

"Priestess!" a samurai named Azor called up to her. "My mother's coming to serve as a cook in the Brave Party. Give me a blessing of courage!"

Salome laughed. "If your mother cooks anything like you do, I'll give us all blessings of courage."

Matix, the samurai seated next to Azor, half stood on his bench. "Priestess, is it true that Seedle will be attacking the capital next?"

"You'll have to ask him," Salome said neutrally. "I can't say anything on his behalf."

"He doesn't listen to us," Azor countered.

"No one listens to you," Matix observed.

"Seedle will tell us what we need to know," Gar spoke up, trying to look like an authority while Shirina was winding a lock of his hair around her finger.

"Says you." Azor took a gulp of wine. "His second-in-command." However, Azor was distracted by a serving maid and the subject was dropped.

Salome soon tired of the soldiers (some days this happened more quickly than others) and left the great hall, climbing up to Fort Betiljesh's battlements. The night was icily cold, the sands of the Ajhara Waste rimed over, an endless landscape of frost. The stars glittered high above the desert like sword points, spear points, signal fires. The sky was a mourning pall in which the planets maneuvered for advantages. These days, it felt like the entire universe was at war.

Salome caught her cloak snugly under her chin. Despite the weeks of travel, she wasn't very tired, and the cool night seemed to settle in her blood, goading her to restlessness. She paced the length of the rampart.

"Priestess?"

Salome turned. It was a very young guard she didn't know, probably only an apprentice samurai. He bowed deferentially. "Forgive my disturbing you, White Priestess, but I...have a question." Mystified, Salome nodded for him to continue. "Has- has the Goddess told you whether we shall win this war?"

Salome sighed. The samurais hadn't yet drilled the importance of not asking unnecessary questions into this boy, but she felt a bit run-down all of a sudden. "The Goddess hasn't spoken to me, no. But that may only be because the Sacred Confine is in ruins. Besides-" she attempted a self-deprecating smile, "I am not a very high-ranking priestess. I've only been a full priestess for four years. The Goddess wouldn't necessarily speak to me anyway." The boy nodded and quickly looked away, back over his post. Salome regarded him, wondering if he was even older than fourteen. "Do you doubt Lord Seedle?" she asked, not accusingly.

"Of course not," the boy answered firmly. "I only -get impatient that this war is taking so long."

Salome nodded. "Of course. Good night." Suddenly depressed, she left the battlements and wound her way through the passages until she found her own little room, where she was a long time in falling asleep.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Salome thought the pealing wail of the samurais' summons horn was just in her dream -then her eyes snapped involuntarily open, and she realized the fort must be under attack. _So soon?_ she wondered, half-anxious, half-dazed as she pulled her tunic over her underclothes and dove for her pants. _Who's near enough to attack us?_ Grimacing, she concluded that Seedle must have known more than he'd told her, maybe not even told Gar. She grabbed her caduceus, which stood at in the corner of her room. One of the staff's two wings had been broken off, but she didn't think that would diminish its power.

Salome left her room and made her way to the top of the fort. In battles, Seedle always placed her as high up and as far back as was safe. She had no usefulness as a fighter; her job was to rain down Giga spells.

The Brave Party only had a few other mages, a handful of individuals who could cast simple first level spells. Seedle's archers were positioned on the rampart below, and, as far as Salome could see in the torch-glaring darkness, Seedle's infantry and horsemen were assembling in the courtyard. Salome scanned the horizon. She saw a dark bulk approaching in the west. It was the enemy, carrying tall lighted braziers every fifty feet. Salome squinted. She could see the front lines of infantry, and maybe some cavalry guarding the rear and flanks.

Salome heard the horn again, relaying a series of short, staccato notes. Seedle was commanding a spell barrage. Salome nodded and raised her caduceus. She was the only mage who could cast spells at this distant range, so she had to make each hit count.

Salome angled her caduceus horizontally, using it to conduct the coiled anxiousness in her, the preternatural awareness that she only found when she was casting Mana. A swift heat seemed to punch her in the chest, then go racing up her arms. In less then a second, a slim rocket of fire and had burst from her staff, arcing across the night. As it reached the crest of its arc, it blossomed into an enormous fireball and came tumbling out of the night onto the front lines of the enemy. It only hit a block of about ten men, and the rest of the line was quickly regrouping and continuing the advance. Another spell screamed overhead, Salome directing it to the cavalry on the enemy's left flank. As she'd hoped, the horses could not be made to regroup; cavalry from the rear was forced to fill that gap. Salome hit the same spot with her next spell.

By then, the enemy was within range of the other mages, and they began a steady barrage of fire spells, hitting the enemy's center. The enemy's mages responded, their fireballs whirling through the darkness towards their fort. Salome winced as an old wizard dropped in a burning heap ten feet from her. In another moment, they had to cease, because the Brave Party's infantry had marched to meet the enemy.

What happened next was a quarter hour of anxious tedium for Salome. The battle was fully met by that point, and her spells were no longer helpful. Even if she had found a group of enemy soldiers close together, her setting them on fire could easily start a panic across the field, and Fort Betiljesh didn't have soldiers to spare for a panic. Salome watched the battle below, having difficulty following the progress. But when she heard their horn calling for a retreat, even she knew that something had gone wrong. She cast down a Giga fire on the enemy rear to distract from the Brave Party's retreat, then turned to Azor and Matix, who led the small division of samurais that served as the mages' escort. They conferred quickly. "Hurry up," Matix barked, "get to the lower level. We'll await orders there."

They descended to the top room of the tower, carrying the wounded. The tower room was large and round. Two samurais immediately stepped to the door, preventing any escape. Salome didn't blame them. Though the mages were among the Party's most valuable assets, almost none of them had any previous military experience, and none of them had the samurais' iron discipline. Salome watched them mill towards the window, their eyes wide. Compressing her lips with anxiety, Salome joined them.

It was hard to see anything in the darkness, but the torches along the tops of the wall had been lit, and, by them, Salome eventually made out that the Brave Party had retreated to the courtyard and barred the gate. There was a commotion at the walls -did the enemy have ladders? Were they trying to enter the fort? The archers' bowstrings flickered in the torchlight as they fired.

Salome felt Azor at her elbow. The friendly samurai of a few hours earlier was gone, replaced with a trained killer. She saw his eyes narrow as he took in the battle.

"I don't see any siege engines," Salome mentioned, feeling superfluous.

"No. They're trying to scale the walls."

BANG! resounded from the courtyard.

"And using a battering ram."

Salome thought of the gates. They weren't very strong, only wood reinforced with two iron bars. She saw that the Brave Party's infantry hadn't retreated from the gate. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. "Seedle's going to try to hold the breach. Just going to hold them back with manpower." And she knew she was right, that Seedle would be there himself. He never lead a battle from the rear, but jumped right into the thick of danger himself. It amazed the men and inspired them. But Salome felt sick. She turned quickly to Azor. "What can we do? We can't fire at the walls, but can we- What can-"

"Await orders," Azor said firmly. "There is nothing you can do."

"Nothing we can do?" a young witch repeated, her wide eyes turned towards Azor. "But -but there's no way Lord Seedle can defend that!" Her voice climbed to a hysteric wail. "We're going to die and there's nothing we can do!"

"What?" said wizard. "No -no, we won't!"

"The samurai said so!" the girl shrieked.

With an oath, Azor shouldered his way in front of the window, another samurai quickly joining him from the other side, blocking the battle from sight. The panicked mages stared wild-eyed at him as he shouted, "Enough! You aren't going to die! There's nothing we can do to help the siege and there's nothing we need to do! Lord Seedle has everything under control. Do you think he'd be down there himself if he didn't?"

_Yes,_ Salome could have answered. But she, like the samurais, knew Seedle personally. These mages did not. They couldn't recognize Azor's lies. Azor knew nothing of whether or not Seedle would need them. He just knew that if Seedle needed the mages, he'd need them alive and as calm as possible.

Azor and the other samurai remained in front of the window, staring out. Salome turned to the mages. "Listen," she said, hoping her voice didn't shake too much, "I am going to say a prayer to the Goddess-" Azor shot her a quick glance, reminding her that the mages needed to feel secure, "thanking her for our safety. I want you to join in the antiphon."

Salome commenced with the chant. The mages responded, but she could tell that none of them were thinking about the Goddess, herself included. She couldn't feel the tension in the room ebbing at all. The old wizard had thick lines of sweat running from his temples.

_What if Seedle dies? What if the enemy breaks through? What if we're taken prisoner?_

Salome, unlike the rest of the mages, was facing the door, so she was the first among them to see the new samurai rush into the room, sweating and bloody. Her voice abruptly died. By the time the other mages turned around, the new samurai had come to Azor's side. Azor's eyes widened, then grew hard, and he glanced at the mages. "All right," he said clearly, not hurrying his words, "Seedle has ordered us downstairs to help in the defense." Several the witches began sobbing and crying out. Azor raised his voice. "This is good news. If Seedle thinks it's safe enough to bring you down below, then it means he's winning." The sobbing grew fainter. Azor went on. "Every one of you is precious to our cause, and Seedle is not going to endanger you." The sobbing stopped. Azor, looking around the crowd, met Salome's eyes. He winced.

More lies. Salome understood it. Seedle was desperate. The enemy must be pulverizing his defense. He was bringing down the valuable mages because he'd soon have nothing else left to fight with.

And what could she do? "You heard Lord Azor," she said. She took a deep breath, sensing that the mages were finally trusting them. "Let's go." _Let's go die._

Several of their escort went first through the door. With a feeling of dread, Salome saw that the mages were waiting to follow her. She followed Azor. "Azor-" she whispered.

The samurai glanced at her. "We'll protect you mages. Why do you think we're here?"

"I don't want you all to die either," she whispered.

A witch had come up to Salome and grasped her hand. Salome looked down into her face. She was about Salome's own age.

"You shouldn't be here," Salome upbraided her. "You're three months pregnant."

The witch smoothed her features over until they were entirely expressionless, though she spoke with an effort. "Well. No difference. Nothing about war is fair. Besides. You shouldn't be here. You might be pregnant with Lord Seedle's heir and not know it."

Salome was suddenly buoyed up on a tide of anger. "I'm not pregnant with anybody's heir!" she hissed. Honestly, did she have to put up with this in the Brave Party too? For a moment, she totally forgot that it was she who was probably going to die. But she suddenly realized that her ears were full of the cacophony of battle and that she'd almost tripped over a samurai's corpse.

Azor stopped the mages at the lower level stairs, where they'd have the best chance of escape in case -in case - Another advantage was that the stairs were at an angle to the gates, meaning that the mages could cast on the enemy without hitting the defenders. And, if the defenders were overwhelmed, the enemy would be forced to expose its flank as it rushed inside. For one stupid moment, Salome tried to find Seedle or Gar in the struggle, but it was impossible. In the next moment, she'd begun casting her Giga fire.

Their spells were able to hit the enemy uninterrupted for about twenty seconds. In that time, the enemy was forced to fall back. The defenders struggled to press their advantage, but they lost it as the attackers regrouped and brought their own mages to the gap. Azor sent half of the escort to the gap, leaving the rest to protect the mages.

Salome gasped as one of the enemy's fireballs barely missed her, singing the left side of her hair. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, that it had hit the pregnant witch, who was down and writhing on the steps. Feeling a fresh surge of fury, she thrust another Giga fire at the enemy mages. She was peripherally aware that a few of the attackers had succeeded in pushing through the gap and were running for the mages. Azor and Matix stepped forward, felling them. In the torch light, the blood flashed as brightly as steel, the steel as bright as fire, the night like a black vulture hovering over them all. _What am I thinking?_ Salome upbraided herself._ I need to concentrate on the fight! _ Another fireball burst out of her. Salome realized that her chest was burning; it felt like each fireball had hollowed out her insides, leaving great red burns. She couldn't keep this up much longer. As she shifted to weaker spells, she glanced at the gap. She could no longer tell who was winning. She couldn't see Seedle and Gar. Bodies littered the courtyard, soaking in blood. Salome felt soaked, soaked with sweet, and her face saturated with tears._ Stop it! _she shouted at herself. _Pull yourself together! Just hold on, it can't last much longer, it can't, it can't, just an hour ago I was safe and asleep, it can't last it can't it can't I can't last!_

"STOP CASTING!" Azor shouted. All of the mages stopped automatically, hardly any of them rational at this point.

_Stop casting?_ Salome tried to reason it out. _Why we're -we're losing. No -wait -_ Her eyes were filmy with fatigue. She blinked rapidly, beads of sweat flicking off her eyelashes. The Brave Party had pushed through the gap again. Their archers were firing on the outside of the wall. The enemy was giving ground. Would it last?

Salome glanced dazedly round the courtyard. She should see to the wounded -she didn't have the strength -her legs were shaking. She gripped the stairway banister for support. She could smell the mage roasting behind her, but she didn't look.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It ended at midnight, which seemed a mercy; the half-hearted haze of the moon muted the redness of the blood, the brilliant hues of intestines, the pinks and greens of infection. When Salome saw that both Gar and Seedle were alive, she almost collapsed with relief. Gar had a head wound, shallow but bleeding profusely. Seedle's left shoulder had been hacked into a bloody pulp of muscle and blood, and he had a shallow gouge running across his ribs. He was pale with the strain, but refused to be led away to his room in front of the other samurais. Almost an hour passed before Salome saw him stumble up the stairs to his own room.

When Seedle struggled out of his faint, he was lying on his own low cot. Turning his head, he saw Salome kneeling next to him, her hands pressed into his shoulder, healing it with Mana. He stared at her detatchedly, intent on her spell. Part of her long blonde hair had been singed gray, and several strands trailed red-tipped in his blood. Her eyes, above the dark rings of exhaustion, were bright, staring down into her spell. Seedle closed his eye in a wave of pain. Salome was fatigued, and her spells were far from soothing at this point. Seedle winced as his muscles forcibly re-knit themselves together, a thin film of skin forming over the angry red wound. Salome sighed shakily and pressed a bloody hand to her forehead. Seedle opened his eye. The priestess was white-faced.

Seedle swallowed painfully, trying to collect himself. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she said wearily. "You are." She straightened and turned to the gash on his side. When she removed her hand, it left a long smear of blood down her cheek. In a moment, her hands were glowing again with a healing spell. "I don't think -I can heal this one all the way-"

"Just bandage it," Seedle said, voice stronger. "I'll manage. _Salome_," he said harshly when she continued to cast, "just bandage it! Don't burn yourself out!"

Salome retracted her spell. "Fine!" she snapped. She'd brought bandages in case, and she picked one up, living red fingerprints. "You'll have to sit up though."

Seedle frowned at the implication that he was too weak to sit up and slowly pulled himself upright. He was pale and sweaty at the end of it. "Where's Gar?" he huffed. "Where's the General?"

Salome was regarding him with a bit more sympathy. "Gar's all right. He insisted that I come heal you immediately. I haven't seen Heketsu." She dipped a cloth into the already bloody basin of water at her side. Seedle tensed, refusing to flinch as she cleaned the wound as best she could. He began to talk, probably to distract himself, Salome thought.

"The enemy has been pushed back. I think they're forces belonging to Captain Sheraw, the -" Seedle hissed in pain. "Fehran's nephew. But they've been pushed back, so we should be safe for now."

Salome was pressing a pad of cloth against the wound, then she began to wind the bandage around his torso. She had to reach both arms almost entirely around him at one point, and Seedle fell silent. Salome didn't know why. Blinking away her tiredness, she continued to bandage him. She braced her shoulder against his chest to tie the bandage sufficiently tight. She didn't notice how close her neck came to Seedle's lips, but he did. In another moment, she leaned back from him and was studying the bandage critically. "I wish I had more Mana. If that gets infected..." Her voice trailed off. She was really too tired to talk, and anyway, Seedle would just be stoic and tell her not worry. He didn't though. When Salome looked up, she realized Seedle was staring at her. _Oh no, _Salome groaned inwardly. _What else do I have to do? I just want to go back to my room and sleep._

"Thanks," Seedle said.

Salome almost jumped. He rarely came out and thanked anybody. Salome was very much at a loss. "Seedle, I'm your healer. Of course I'm going to heal you."

"I can't thank you?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. Your welcome."

Seedle was still staring at her. Even though he only had one eye, Salome had never felt such a direct gaze. "I regret bringing you into such danger tonight."

Salome ran her less-bloody hand through her hair. "That too is my job."

"True," Seedle said. "But you aren't a samurai. You've sworn no oaths to battle. You follow my commands only because you want to. Is that right?"

"Of course." _Please let me go and sleep._

Seedle looked at her intently. Despite his wound, he leaned towards her. "Why do you want to? Why do you chose to put yourself in danger?"

Salome stared at him blankly, trying to understand his sudden earnestness.

Seedle continued. "You put yourself in mortal danger today just because I asked you to. And now that the danger's past, you've come immediately up to heal me. Why?"

Salome stared questioningly into that intense black eye. She realized that Seedle was smiling slightly and that one of his hands had crossed almost to touch hers. Salome's gaze returned to his eye, but she was far too tired to parse out what she saw there. "I-" she faltered. _You saved my life. I have nowhere else to go. I want to see Fehran destroyed._ "It's ...it's simply my place, Seedle."

His eye narrowed slightly, and his smiled vanished. But he continued to stare into her face for a few more moments before he leaned back against the wall.

Salome frowned. "Seedle, why? You've never asked me this before."

Seedle sighed. "You're tired, Salome."

"But- Have I done something wrong? Do you doubt my loyalty?"

"No. Go and rest. It's just-" He shook his head grimly. "Never mind." He flicked his glance up at her again. "Not now. I'll tell you... some other time. Later."

Salome frowned at him, still uncertain.

Seedle smiled at her. "I promise."


	18. Chapter 18

18

When Salome woke up, even before she'd opened her eyes, she realized that her hand was in her duffel bag, clutching her knife, the Immortal Edge. She held it in the same grip she'd used to kill Seedle, the night he'd finally told her what had occupied his mind for so long, the reason behind so many guarded looks and silences. But she hadn't loved him back. He wasn't worth surrendering either her priestesshood or her heart to, nor even something as weak as her body.

_I had to kill him,_ Salome thought dazedly. Then she realized that she was alive again, no longer a priestess, in some demon's car. She blinked her eyes entirely open.

It was a gray morning, the overcast sky as dull as pewter. She looked over at Zetta. The demon Overlord was fast asleep, his head lolling back against the headrest, snoring loudly. His cellphone was still flipped open in his left hand. Shivering at their close proximity, Salome eased the door open and stepped outside, slipping the Immortal Edge into the straps along her thigh.

It was cold and dank, the air settling heavily on her skin, making her feel as though she was walking through a haze of freezing humidity. The swollen clouds seemed ready to burst out raining at any instant. She could hear the rush of traffic beyond the motel, somewhere the growling of a garbage truck, but she was alone in the parking lot. Her legs had lost circulation, and she stamped across the pavement. Despite the surroundings, her mind kept returning to memories of a thousand years ago.

She had never doubted Seedle, not once. She knew that he was a deadly warrior, and she'd heard stories of violent battles he'd won. She'd seen them herself, and she'd healed Seedle when he returned to camp, hacked up and bloody. She knew Seedle wasn't afraid of taking lives. But she also knew he was honorable, that he only took the lives he had to. Now she wondered if that had been true. Did Seedle have secrets even when he was alive?

And then - Salome winced. She'd never realized that Seedle had wanted her. She knew that their close association sparked rumors, but she never thought there was any actual danger. As a priestess, she had strictly refused to look at either Seedle or Gar as potential lovers...and she assumed they had treated her the same.

Salome looked up. A crow was flying overhead, cawing mournfully in an empty white sky. Salome sighed. No. Apparently Seedle_ had_ seen her as something else. And because she'd been his dedicated follower, because she'd always been ready to help him, he couldn't imagine that she didn't desire him in return. And when he realized she'd never submit to him, he'd-

Salome stroked the Immortal Edge. She'd killed Seedle with his own dagger. Maybe someday, she'd get a chance to kill him with this one. After all, the King of the Underworld could be killed. There was always a deeper hell to go to.

Salome idly watched the traffic, the passing cars no more than a pattern of color to her preoccupied mind. Seedle had fought his way up through hell, taking out demons that had existed for thousands of years. Now he was more than strong enough to rule a Netherworld. But she, Salome, was more powerful than he.

Or at least she had been, when she had Mana.

As she watched the cars, Salome wondered, _Why are my hands shaking?_

Salome looked down at her hands, made fists, forced them to still. _That's better._ She frowned. _What's wrong with me? I feel kind of...upset. _Salome sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. What had Zetta said last night? That she still remembered how to throw moods? _Well, I wouldn't forget._

Salome went entirely still.

_What am I remembering?_

The streetlights flashed red. For a moment, the roar of traffic quieted.

_Zetta. Why is Zetta here? To stop Alex. Why am I with Zetta? He brought me back to life-_

_Seedle rules the Underworld._

_I was more powerful than Seedle._

There was a quiet, glowing adrenaline in Salome, as if she was suddenly too big for her own body, as if something inside was about to force its way out.

_Why don't I have Mana? I know I had Mana! I had it in my first life and I remember - I remember casting higher level spells! I remember-_

A smile twitched along Salome's lips. _I remember torching someone else's Netherworld._

_And I remember killing demons off and reincarnating them._

_And I remember dueling with Mana in midair._

_And I remember -I remember you. _Salome looked down at the Immortal Edge. _Yes, your name. You were a gift, a gift from-_

Salome turned to at the black car, filled with uncertainty again. _A gift from Zetta? _Salome held her head between her hands. _There's so much, I know there's so much I should remember -a thousand years -my afterlife -Why did Zetta bring me back to life? She swore as a tear slithered down her cheek._

_Blood, found covered in blood, gunshot wounds, lacerations, no Mana, no memory, blood, My Beloved Salome, Salome the Traitor, I remember flying, Omega spells, Dark Prison, My Beloved Salome will be revived, Immortal Edge, the Note of Death, Demon Overlord Seedle, the mightiest Overlord, the Sacred Tome, The One is coming-_

Salome hardly realized that she was digging her nails into her scalp, or that she'd fallen into a half crouch, the early morning damp rising in a white haze from the pavement.

_Lacerations, Omega wind, Omega fire, the Note of Death, blood, blood, My Beloved Salome will be revived in my name, sickness, death, losing Mana, kill me, sickness, let's die as one, blood, hemorrhaging on the battlefield, do you love me, the Death Temple, a dying Netherworld, a dying Overlord, the power to surpass the greatest Overlord, remain with me forever, My Beloved Salome will be revived in my name, Lord Zetta._

Salome dragged her tear-soaked hands away from her face. The morning mist seemed to freeze on her cheeks. She stared blankly at the hotel's dumpster, piled high with cardboard boxes. _Those should really be recycled,_ she thought detatchedly.

She heard the sound of a car door opening. After a moment, she realized she should probably turn her head to see what was happening. She turned her head. Zetta was leaning out of the car, staring at her crouched form with a look of incredulity stamped across his face. "What the hell are you doing?"

Salome stared at him, her thoughts too swift, too sluggish. She sighed and shook her head, getting unsteadily to her feet. "I -don't know," she said vaguely. "Sorry."

Zetta eloquently raised his eyebrows. "What, are you sick?"

Salome shrugged. "I don't know. Probably." She walked slowly back towards the car.

Zetta eyed her uncertainly a moment, but he closed the door. He'd unrolled the window, so she could hear him say, "Okay, first we find breakfast, then I have to meet up with Pram or Valvoga. Even Babylon might be worth it at this point. The question is, has Alex-"

As Salome came abreast of the car's fender, she gave a spring and leapt lightly onto the hood, then the roof, the car rocking slightly.

"What the _hell_?" blazed Zetta.

Using her right hand to draw the Immortal Edge, Salome scanned her surroundings, the dingy gray vista of downtown New Blackcastle. The streetlight flashed green. The cars rolled by like beads on a string.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded the demon Overlord, getting out of the car and slamming the door.

Salome looked down at him from her vantage. She slipped her left foot behind her, bracing her weight against it. The Immortal Edge gleamed in the morning light. "I can't quite remember the correct stance for knife-fighting," she remarked absently.

Zetta frowned. "Have you gone crazy? Or are you just pretending -_again_?"

"I remember with foil fighting, you let your lead foot slide into the thrust, just let it carry you. But knife fighting...how did that go again?" She shifted her knife to the first and second guard positions, repositioning her feet, her expression thoughtful.

Zetta made a fist. "Will you stop scuffing up my car? I don't care if this is a decoy, it's still my-"

Salome smiled brightly down at him. "Would you rather I crash my Netherworld into it?"

"Like hell!" Zetta shouted. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, you had_ no right_ to- Stop laughing and listen to me, you little - How DARE you go and trick me into-" Zetta's angry expression flickered with confusion. "Wait a minute." He frowned harder. "Wait a minute, you-"

Salome's smile was gone, her expression replaced with uneasy concern. She dropped her knife back into its straps. "Never mind me. Zetta -what on earth did you do? Why am I alive?"

Zetta, ever the one to dwell on lengthy discussions of the past, leapt onto the car hood so quickly the car shook. Salome backed away from him in a brief moment of alarm, but he was too fast for her.

Just as well.


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Apology: Sorry for such a long wait on this chapter. Promise me you won't take one part of this chapter too seriously._

19

A few of the commuters on O-64 that Monday morning noticed a couple in a motel parking lot, standing on car's roof in a close embrace. A few of them wondered just what on earth the guy had done to his hair -a few people honked -most of them frowned disapprovingly and wondered why today's youth lacked anything approaching restraint.

Salome held Zetta's face between her hands but remained fairly passive as the demon enthusiastically kissed her hello. Lack of sleep, shock and too many onrushing memories left her somewhat dazed. Incredibly happy, yes, but hazy on what exactly had happened. Zetta, having worked his way down the side of her face to her ear, wasn't exactly helpful. Not that she told him to stop.

It was actually Zetta who spoke first, albeit brokenly. 'Trenia said you probably wouldn't remember -and I thought- of course Seedle the bastard was still -and you're stuck here in the sucky human world and- and -and -dammit, I'm done talking!"

Salome pulled slightly away from him, keeping her arms around his neck but also trying to collect herself. "Zetta -what happened? The last thing I remember from my afterlife was-" Salome frowned. "I was in a deeper hell, I remember. The Gate of the Dead appeared, but I couldn't go through it. And Seedle-" She grimaced, closing her eyes. "I'm still not sure."

Zetta bared his teeth. "That bastard told me everything. _Including_ how I'm this fraud Overlord that only became powerful because his ex was sending off her Mana -How I as good as killed you long before you asked me to!"

Salome winced and kept her eyes closed. "Please, Zetta, don't. Not now."

She felt Zetta sigh. "Fine. But we _will_ be talking about that." His voice softened marginally. "Later, I guess. Anyway, yeah, Seedle told me everything."

"And the Sacred Tome. Did it-" Salome's eyes opened as she remembered the discussion in Alex's warehouse. "Wait, Trenia's the _Sacred Tome_?"

Zetta frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"Later," Salome said. "What happened then? Trenia must have restored your body. And The One's curse?"

"Eh..." Zetta looked blankly off in the distance. "You know, nothing ever really came of that."

Salome went blank. "What?" she asked, voice dangerously flat.

"Yeah. No curse ever took effect. We're beginning to think That One was a fake."

Salome shivered, either with rage or hysteria or relief, she couldn't tell. "You mean I gave up all my Mana -and you weren't even cursed?" She slumped against Zetta. "Oh Magog..."

Zetta took the opportunity to rub his cheek against Salome's hair. "Like hell. I used all of your Mana and more to bring you back to life."

Salome's head snapped up, clipping Zetta across the jaw, but she didn't notice. "What? Oh no, that's why -That's why you're no longer the most powerful Overlord-" Zetta's hair blazed with annoyance, but Salome went right on, "Zetta, I -How could you when-"

Zetta gave her a withering look and adopted a falsetto. "'Oh Zetta, how could you use so much Mana to bring me back to life when I've been sending off my Mana for the last hundred years and _died_ because of it!'"

Salome would've liked to hit him for the voice, but he had a point. "All _right_," she said, not looking at him, "I'm sorry. But I didn't know what else to do. There wasn't any other way to help you."

"You could've not left in the first place."

Salome pushed away from him. "Zetta-"

"All right, fine," Zetta conceded, pulling her back.

"I can't believe you brought me back to life," Salome whispered into his shoulder. "I thought you didn't... Well, that doesn't matter. What happened? Why did I have amnesia?"

Zetta sighed again, his breath stirring her hair. "Trenia's idea. See, I couldn't just revive you and have you right there in my Netherworld. You had to come back as a human, back into a normal human life. Trenia realized that if we did that, you'd just try to get back to me, right?"

"Of course."

"And how would you do it? By killing yourself." Zetta winced. "I'm tired of you doing that, for one thing. For another, you'd enter hell without any Mana, with Seedle waiting at the gates for you. I wouldn't have time to rebuild my Mana and slaughter him. But if you didn't remember, well... It solved a lot of problems."

"Zetta..."

"And I didn't expect all this with Alex to happen. And we-" Zetta straightened. "That's right! Electro-Creep's on his way to cosmic domination! Damn, we have to find him!"

"You're right!" Salome, basking in the afterglow of her recovered memories and her reunion with Zetta, had entirely forgotten about the God of Destruction. She and Zetta clambered hastily off and into the car, slamming the doors behind him. Salome turned to Zetta as he swiped the ignition slot. "Do you really think Alex is that close to taking over the universe? With a human weapon?"

"With Netherworld parts," Zetta reminded her, baring his fangs. "As I should know -the bastard stole some of them from _my_ Netherworld!"

"To say nothing of the Sacred Tome."

Zetta narrowed his eyes.

They backed out of the parking lot. Zetta glanced a bit dubiously at the highway. "I just don't understand it. All these cars and _no one's_ attacking each other?"

"Why don't we stick to the sidestreets?"

"What? You think I can't handle that road?"

Salome shrugged. "I don't even know how that highway works. Cars don't drive in lanes in the Netherworlds." As Zetta set the car trundling back down the sidestreets they'd traversed last night, Salome tried to orient herself for the day ahead. "Okay, Alex is close to his goal. He's probably already in Vu Industries."

"He broke in yesterday."

"Well -we don't know for certain that the Chimera Project is there. Hm, he's probably got Vu's house covered as well. But he hasn't learned anything from Miakoda or Dacia. He..."

"We're rendezvousing with Valvoga, Pram and Babylon at an abandoned motel on Green Street," Zetta mentioned. "But Pram predicted they'd be tied up until noon."

Salome frowned witheringly. "She's probably just sleeping in."

"Even so, that gives us-" He checked the dash. "Three and a half hours."

"Well, we can't try to infiltrate the Vu Industries in that little time."

Zetta glanced at her, a bit scornfully. "What? Sorry, Salome, you have no Mana. You're not coming."

Salome bristled, though she saw his point. "Fine," she said, irritably drumming her fingers against the anti-tank gun by her window. "Anyway, there's not much _you_ can do in three and half hours."

"Where can we get breakfast?"

Salome was shaken out of her concentration. "Oh? Uh-" She looked around. "There should be some fast food...Oh look, there's a Berg's. That'll do."

Zetta swung the car up into the restaurant's drive-thru lane, smashing one of the decorative bushes as he passed. Salome scooted close to him so they could read the roadside menu.

It was very large with a plastic, dewy-eyed gray cat in overalls perched on top. "Hm," said Zetta as he read. "Finger foods: breaded fingers, fried fingers, beer-battered fingers." He glanced as Salome. "Fingers of what?"

Salome shrugged. "Chicken, I guess."

Zetta looked thoroughly repulsed. "I'm not eating any chicken with_ fingers_!"

"Well, we should probably get something with meat for Bonsai."

"Okay, then, maybe we should get... Bonsai?"

"The dog."

"What dog? I don't see a dog."

"He's asleep. Hm, maybe the breast with gravy. The breast panini. Beer battered breast."

"Breast of what?"

"_Chicken_."

"Chickens don't have breasts."

"Zetta, I'm trying to find something edible."

"I'm just saying. I mean, chickens aren't mammals. At least, they shouldn't be."

"Let's see, thighs. Thigh stew. Thigh casserole. Beer battered thigh."

"Salome, it doesn't mention chicken anywhere on the menu."

"Zetta, for badness sake, of course it's chicken! What else would it be?"

"I don't know. All I'm saying is that they claim the Thigh Burger weighs ten pounds."

Salome leaned across Zetta to see. He was right: Ten Pounder Thigh Burger. Salome and Zetta looked at each other.

"Perhaps you'd like to go vegetarian?" a lime green sign at the bottom of the menu read. They scanned it quickly, put their orders in the speaker, and rolled towards the first window. Salome put 200 HL into the coin converter on the dashboard, which spat it out as $6.79. Zetta handed the money to the cashier, a tired college student wearing a gray beanie with cat ears on it. She goggled at Zetta and had to make three vague grabs for the money before she found it.

Zetta laughed as they rolled to the second window. "Hyaa ha, human and demon, the women can't resist me!"

Before Salome could hand him a clue, the cashier at the second window was rattling off their order. "One fruit salad and yogurt, one order of croutons, one meatless Eggs Maledict, one Tipsy Cola and one Hawt Chocolat." She handed the food over, turning to look at the occupants of the car.

Zetta had to fumble for the bag before she dropped it entirely. He gave the cashier a wink and a broad smile before rolling out of the drive-thru, chuckling. Salome frowned. "Maybe you should leave your hair in the thirteenth dimension next time. Anyway." She began to divvy up the food. At the smell of grease, Bonsai wriggled out of the duffel bag and onto Salome's knee. She used one hand to hold him up for Zetta's inspection. "This is Bonsai."

Zetta shuddered. "What are you doing with that freakish thing?"

"He belongs to Dacia Vu. I just sort of...wound up with him. Can he have some of your egg?"

"What?"

"He's hungry. He'll chew on your boots if you don't."

"I'll carve that mutt up and have _him_ for breakfast," Zetta retorted, truthfully.

"All right, he'll have to settle for croutons." Salome opened the packet, put it on the floor by her duffel bag, and Bonsai got to work. She opened her salad's plastic container and picked up her flimsy fork. "So we still have more than three hours to kill."

Zetta had parked them by a gas station and was busy chewing his own breakfast. "Well, we do have to find the motel. Do you know where Green Street is?"

"No idea." She picked up her Hawt Chocolat, glancing at the logo on the cup which was of another gray cat, this time wearing a black lace corset, red miniskirt and fishnets. Salome grimaced.

Xxxxxxxxx

"Get that thing _away_ from me!" Zetta snapped, wadding up their food bag and tossing it out the window, where it bounced off a "No Litter" sign. Sighing, Salome scooped up Bonsai, who'd been foolishly waddling over to Zetta's side of the car to investigate his belt. "Okay, we've got to find this motel...it's called the..." He closed his eyes to think for a moment. "The Sunny Honeydew Inn."

"Zetta," Salome said softly.

He opened his eyes. "Great, you don't know where it is, right?"

"Thank you," she whispered.

Zetta waved that off. "You can pay me back for breakfast some other time."

"Not that -I mean...thank you for bringing me back to life." She clasped her hands, hoping they wouldn't shake. "I mean -you jeopardized everything to do it. Your status, your life."

Zetta frowned, staring over the dashboard at some pigeons bobbing around an upended trash can. His voice came out with an edge of annoyance. "What did you expect me to do? Seedle was waiting for you in hell."

"This is the second time you've saved my soul."

"Huh?"

Salome took a deep breath. "The first time was when you took me in as your apprentice. And I just realized, I never once thanked you for that."

"_Thank_ me?" Zetta repeated, still watching the pigeons. "You're talking like a human."

Salome bowed her head. "I know. That's all I've ever really been. Even if I had all the Mana in the cosmos and was the strongest Overlord in the universe, I'd still have my human heart. Maybe it will always be my undoing."

Zetta drummed his fingers against the steering wheel for a moment. "Let's not talk about this, all right? I have a brat to kill."

Salome looked up, realizing that he was uncomfortable. _Well, he can't help it_. "Of course. I just wanted to thank you."

"Salome -what the hell?" he burst out, catching Salome off guard. "I wasn't being kind when I rescued you from the Underworld! I was planning to suck your Mana dry. Like I eventually did," he added darkly.

Salome smiled. "I knew you weren't being generous. But you let me live, even if you only planned on it being a little longer. And -you did bring me back to life." She paused. "I still have trouble believing it."

Zetta's fingers drummed again. "Yeah, well-"

Salome leaned to lay her head against his chest. Zetta went still. Salome took only a moment to sort out what she needed to say. "You saved my soul, strengthened my Mana and taught me how to defend myself. I repaid you by coercing you into killing me. I'm sorry I put you through that."

Zetta's arms were around her. "Salome-"

"Of course, you were an egotistical jerk," Salome felt she had to mention. "But -I was just as selfish and heartless, in my own way."

"Egotistical _jerk_?"

"I'm sorry," Salome said again. She tilted her head up and softly kissed his cheek. "I love you."

Salome waited.

Salome closed her eyes. In all honesty, she'd expected no response, but it had been sweet to hope. "Well," she said briskly, "now that's over with, we have to find this rendezvous."

Zetta cleared his throat. "Right," he said, releasing her a bit awkwardly. As Salome settled back in her own seat and placed Bonsai on her lap, Zetta started the car. "Go look up the motel's address. The laptop should be in the compartment by your feet."

It was. Salome shifted Bonsai and placed the slim black laptop against her legs. She opened it and opened the Zetscape Browser. She went to bullseye-dot-bam, typed in the correct human world into one of the search bars, "Sunny Honeydew Inn, Azthayo" into another and hit Go. "It's not far," she said when the results showed. "It's only about fifteen miles, clear across the other side of the city. We can definitely make it in three hours."

"All right," Zetta said, tootling down a narrow backstreet. "Hey, why are all the streets decorated like that?"

Salome glanced out the window. "Like what?"

"All those lights. See, right over there. There are, like, six lights on that one post. What gives?"

Salome blinked. "Those are some human thing. I think they're called traffic lights. I haven't really figured out how they're supposed to work."

"Haven't been doing much driving around here?"

Salome shrugged. "It's just not fun in the human world." She sighed. "And, from the looks of things, we're heading into heavier traffic."

Zetta sat up over the steering wheel. "Why are they all stopped like that? They're in the road, not a parking lot." Frowning, he stopped the car behind a smart little red two-seater.

Salome peered ahead. "We're at an intersection. I guess they're letting the other cars pass."

"Pffft. They should just ram 'em. In fact, I think I'll-"

Salome touched his arm. "Don't. It doesn't take much to attract attention in this world. Besides, we have plenty of time."

Zetta huffed and settled back against his seat. "Fine."

Just then, Salome noticed something approaching in one of the many rear-view mirrors. She frowned, certain that her paranoid mind was just having fun with her.

Then she stopped being sure. "Zetta-"

"Hm? What?" Zetta glanced at her, then over his shoulder.

Directly behind them was a minivan full to bursting with large blue thunder giants.

The traffic light blinked green.


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Note: This has to be the most unrealistic scene I have written in years. Of course, it was a strangely satisfying experience._

20

Zetta's lips parted in a slow smile, displaying his fangs. "You said it's not fun driving in the human world?" In less than a second, his grin went from playful to absolutely demented. Salome just had time to lock both hands around the anti-tank gun by her seat before Zetta stepped on the accelerator. The little two-seater in front of them jumped forward in response, obviously in mortal fear of being mowed down. Zetta glanced just once at the next lane before he merged, cutting between a station wagon and a sixteen wheeler that momentarily blocked them from view. The thunder giants' minivan could be partially seen in several of the ten rearview mirrors.

Salome gauged her options. Thousands of years ago, in his Netherworld, Zetta had taught her how to drive. Out there, is was more a matter of mayhem than safe transportation. Ideally, there would have been two soldiers in the back seat commanding the rear guns, as well as several on the roof, ready to jump off and engage in hand-to-hand combat. Zetta, as the driver, could deploy the acid and poison squirters, and he could plow over any thunder giant that got in his way, but it was Salome who had to use the guns. Salome shifted, kneeling on her seat and looking out of the back.

"Okay, I can't do anything here. We need to get clearer."

Zetta was still grinning. He seemed to be looking for more minivans full of demons. "Sure, sure. We're hitting a really big road."

Salome looked over her shoulder. They'd cleared the city faster than she'd expected and were on an enormous highway, six lanes going in each direction, overpasses arcing overhead. Despite herself, Salome smiled a bit too.

"According to bullseye-dot-bam," she told him, "we need to follow this road past six exits. We're hitting the Windhaven exit, on the left."

"Watch it," Zetta said.

Salome had swung her gun around even before she'd focused on the minivan that had dispersed six bikers on their way to a motorcycle rally. It blazed towards their car, windshield wipers slapping, suspension rattling, and horn blaaaa-honking. Two of the thunder giants had angled flame throwers out of the side windows.

Salome leveled her antitank gun at them, sighting down the scope. She hissed in frustration.

"What?" Zetta demanded, swerving to avoid a double-decker bus.

"That hearse got in the way."

"Shoot through it," Zetta suggested, spinning the steering wheel and shifting lanes at an eighty-degree angle. "The passenger won't care."

But the minivan had rammed the hearse, sending it skidding into the highway meridian which was, incidentally, the Adopted Highway of the New Blackcastle Junior Budgie Troop and planted with a riot of pale blue corn flowers. Petals went flying.

Salome took full advantage of her first clear shot. So did the thunder giants. There were four simultaneous explosions, sending cars in the adjacent lanes spinning away in alarm. Before the smoke had entirely cleared, Zetta pressed a button on the dash. Lighter fluid went streaming out of his rear headlights, but the minivan had already switched lanes. The people behind it swore it out because the thunder giants had forgotten to signal.

The minivan sped up, two lanes away from them. Salome trained her gun on them, waiting for a break in the intervening traffic. It was in this quick moment of non-action that she became aware of a long, whooping siren approaching them. There were flashing blue lights out of the corner of her eye.

Zetta was watching those same lights in a mirror. "Any idea what that is?"

Salome frowned, leaning away from the window to look over the headrest. "Yeah. We want to outrun it."

BANG! Salome swore, shouldering back against Zetta before she realized that one of the thunder giants had only winged a mirror with his automatic. Pulling herself together, she began to fire back.

"Yikes!" hissed Zetta, slamming on the breaks and fishtailing in a perfect crescent as a line of cars stopped in front of him. Salome glanced forward to see what had caused the halt. Six lanes of traffic had stopped dead because a mother duck and her six fluffy babies were waddling across the highway, bright orange feet flapping. The mother quacked politely as she crossed over the third lane to the fourth.

The minivan had merged to the lane directly next to them and pulled up alongside. Three thunder giants leaned out of the side windows and gave them slow grins.

Salome fired again, aiming for their teeth, but thunder giants weren't Alex's elite for their good looks (certainly _not_ their good looks), and when they returned the volley, she was forced to swing her gun around as a shield. Zetta glanced at the crossfire. Meanwhile, the whooping siren was rapidly approaching. The cars behind them were shifting to either side, about to let the authorities through. Zetta laughed, backed the car a few feet, and then executed a hairpin turn that sent Salome slamming against him. As the black and gray police car tootled into view, Zetta sheered past, clipping the police car on the way out and taking its starboard mirror with him. The police car fumbled backwards, denting a shiny purple convertible, then after a hiccup, went speeding after Zetta. After a moment, the police car realized that there was a minivan hot on its rear bumper.

(The mother duck and her pretty little family safely crossed the highway and made their way to a nearby pond, where they lived happy and productive duck lives.)

Presently the bangs of human gunfire were added to the melodious polyphony of sound, what with the screeching tires, the exploding napalm, the battle cry of the fast-approaching thunder giants ("ALEX! ALEX! GIVE HIM SUBJECTS! HONE YOUR REFLEX! ALEX! ALEX!"), and Bonsai's emotional howling. Zetta leaned over the steering wheel, his flaming hair streaming, his narrowed eyes like two white triangles of doom.

He was heading for an overpass.

"Okay," Salome panted, picking herself up from the seat cushions, where she'd eventually landed. "Okay, altitude's good. But the exit's in the other direction. We're going the wrong way."

"Not for long," Zetta promised as they swung around the off-ramp's wide curve, the blue lights whirling behind them and the blue thunder giants tossing grenades at their wheels. ("ALEXANDER! WE WON'T PANDER! BUT WE SAY, ANY DAY, YOU DA MAN-ER!")

"That so didn't rhyme," Salome mentioned witheringly, watching as all the cars that had heretofore occupied the overpass scoot out of the way.

One of the police men's bullets hit another rearview mirror. It ricocheted off the bullet-resistant glass and went flying towards the minivan. One of the minivan's window wipers struck it, sending it flying over the highway. It landed in the middle of a Do Not Litter sign, dotting the i.

Salome frowned, watching as Zetta headed for the level of the overpass. "I'm sure you have a plan, and I'd just love to hear it."

Zetta flicked a preoccupied glance at Salome. After a moment, he said, "Maybe seatbelts would've been a good idea."

Zetta's Makaimobile hit a sudden, oblique angle, launching itself off the guardrail that protected the overpass. The car did well, arcing over the highway at a height of seventy feet. Salome took the opportunity to swing the gun around and fire at the minivan from their temporary vantage. She managed to inflict real damage, perforating the roof with several gaping holes and blasting away a chunk of the hood, leaving the engine exposed and rattling.

Before the thunder giant driver had sufficient time to collect himself, the minivan had followed Zetta right up off the ramp. This was a hefty minivan full of eight hefty thunder giants, so it quickly landed with a ker-thud in the middle of the highway, crushing its front bumper into something that resembled crumpled tinfoil, to say nothing of the shower of broken glass and exploding sparks.

Zetta's car had landed further up the road, but being lighter (and being the most Badbumper Freakin Car in the Universe), it had landed further up on the highway, and Zetta had already gone shooting back in the direction of New Blackcastle.

The policemen, meanwhile, swerved to a stop on the overpass, watched the spectacle, swore, and started back down to the highway again, arguing about whether they should call for backup.

Salome continued to watch through the back windows. "Our friends have regrouped. They're strapping a really big flame-thrower onto what's left of the hood. It's got three stars over it."

Zetta fiddled with the dash, flipping a switch from "mustard gas" to "gasoline". A tube rather like a periscope rose from the car's back bumper, leveling itself with the flame-thrower on the approaching minivan. The demon glanced at the minivan in the mirror, his fangs gleaming. "Behold the might of Lord Zetta, Supreme Overlord of this and any world!" As the thunder giants fired their colossal flame-thrower, Zetta's car released a flume of gasoline, igniting an enormous fireball between the cars. Zetta sped up, and the minivan ran unfaltering into the heart of the holocaust. Salome squinted against the glare.

"Well," she said after a moment, "you got soot all over their car."

Zetta's glee turned into a glower as he surveyed the lack of damage. "Hm. I wasn't expecting a move that looked that good to be so ineffectual."

Just then, the minivan burped, belched, snorted, wheezed and slithered to a halt. Zetta's car blazed away towards New Blackcastle. The thunder giants fumbled around in their minivan, trying to sort out the problem. It wasn't long before they realized that it had run out of human souls to run on, and they were totally stuck.

The battered police car noodled up then, the police grimly watching the minivan. All the policemen knew was that those blue chumps, whoever they were, better have their registration on hand.


	21. Chapter 21

21

After many wrong turns and much heated debate, Zetta finally got his car trundling down Green Street. It was wearing on towards noon by then, the beginning of a hot day. Aside from some wayfarers and quite a few feral cats, the streets were largely deserted. Posters and graffiti plastered the walls. The Sunny Honeydew Inn was boarded up, and its dingy marquee read O V CAN IES.

Zetta pulled the car into its small side parking lot and removed the Makai Card. The engine seemed to emit a faint sigh of relief as it went quiet. Zetta and Salome got out. Zetta walked to the side of the motel, to one of the partially visible windows. He pried off the plywood. Then he lightly flicked his fingers against the glass and the entire window crumbled to confetti and fell in. They climbed through the window into the dark building. Salome squinted, unable to see anything.

Suddenly the room bubbled with light. Salome had stepped back, one hand on her dagger hilt, before she realized the whirling Mana was just Pram making her entrance. Salome straightened out of her crouch, eyeing the young demon distastefully.

Pram whirled towards Zetta, one white hand on her flat hip. "T'uh! What took you? Valvoga and I have been waiting for hours."

"Shut up, Pram," Zetta suggested. "Have you made any predictions about where Alex is hiding the Sacred Tome?"

Pram flicked a strand of white hair from her shoulder. "Well, he's definitely hidden it somewhere. It's not in that warehouse anymore." She looked up at the ceiling. "If someone hadn't blasted away half that warehouse, we might still know where the dumb book is."

"Will you stop bringing that up?" Micky asked, squirming slightly as the entire tottering edifice that was Valvoga appeared. "It was Dryzen's fault, not mine!"

"What about the tome?" Zetta interrupted. "If Alex takes Trenia back to my Netherworld-" Zetta's hair popped with panic "-he could write _himself_ in as Overlord!"

Salome put her hand on his arm. "I doubt it. Trenia probably won't grant that wish." She thought a moment. "Unless she's still angry that you set her on fire." About then, she realized that the other Overlords were looking at her.

"Salome? It_ is_ you!" Micky said incredulously. He looked triumphantly down at his two cohorts. "You see, I _was _right!"

"I predicted that you'd come," Pram informed them. She studied Salome critically. "But what the hell are you doing here? You're a pitiful human again, you can't fight."

Salome gave her a bland look. "I'm lending amoral support."

Micky was looking around the dark interior, at the old reception desk and the chintzy furniture. "Wasn't Babylon supposed to meet us here?"

Pram snorted. "Who knows where that coot's blundering around?"

"_You're_ supposed to," Ophelia smirked.

Pram bristled. "This sludgy human atmosphere is clouding my inner eye!"

Ophelia had turned her head in Salome's direction. "Do you, by any chance, remember that day you destroyed three-fourths of our Netherworld?"

"I DO," Dryzen informed her.

"SHUT UP!" Zetta blasted. "We have more important things to think about!"

"Like you?" Ophelia asked.

"Exactly. Now," Zetta said, putting his hands on his hips, "Alex is probably inside Vu Industries at this very moment."

"And Drake," Micky mentioned.

"And about fifty hundred vegetable warriors," Ophelia mentioned.

"Puh-leez," from Pram.

"And Alex's personal army." Zetta considered a moment. "They're pretty tough. We won't be able to toss _them_ into a salad so easily. Of course," he said quickly, "I'll have no problem taking down Alex himself, but getting in, I'll need some...assistance."

"Hmph. Don't expect us to commit all our forces," Pram warned him. "You have your own troops."

"And none of our forces will be worth much if Alex figures out how to use Chimera," Zetta reminded her. They all thought about this for a moment.

"Well," Micky said, getting a bit of a steely-general glint in his eyes, "I can lend you my witch brigades. They all cast to Omega levels on fire, ice and wind."

"_If _you give us your drill collection," Ophelia said quickly.

"Which you STOLE from us!" Dryzen added.

"Like hell!" Zetta retorted. "I'm not going to-"

Salome grabbed his arm. "You're wasting time. Negotiate later!"

"Well..." Pram considered, tapping one purple fingernail against her little pink mouth. "I guess I can part with my pet beserkers, for an afternoon. And I have a professor who can work up some vehicles pretty fast."

Zetta nodded. "Added to my troops, that should be enough. All right." He made a fist which suddenly burst into writhing purple and burgundy flames. Sparks showered from his fingers. "I'd say it's about time to Ragnarok!"

Pram sighed. "Puh-leeeez."

Xxxxxxxxx

Vu Industries was a sixty story flatiron slab, rising to the blue sky with a crown of sharp metal spires. It was surrounded by security personnel, which gave Salome pause, but Zetta snapped his fingers, and instantly all the security guards slumped over their stations, the hoods of their cars, and each other, fast asleep.

Salome blinked. "Why didn't you have us do that before? When we were on the highway."

Zetta blinked. "Uhm... Well -why miss out on such a great training opportunity?"

"Just park this stupid car and let us out!" Pram yapped, and she could hardly be blamed since Zetta had shoved her and Valvoga into the backseat.

They entered the cool half-darkness of the parking garage. Zetta picked the first spot. "Okay," he said, once they were out, "we're going to run in guns blazing. Alex could be anywhere, so Pram, you start low, Valvoga start in the middle, and I'll start high. We'll chase all the combat into the middle."

Micky's blue forehead rumpled in thought. "Where do I chase the fighting?"

Zetta was in the mood to kill, not be logical. "If there's no fight in the middle, run around and chase your tail, I don't care! Just be ready for anything. " He looked at Salome. "What does the Chimera look like again?"

"It's a small disk about the size of a button."

Pram rolled her eyes. "Sheesh. Why should it be easy?"

"Alex probably has some idea where it is," Zetta said. His eyes flashed, and he drew the Zetta Sword. "I'll be sure to ask him."

Salome watched the demons disappear with flares of bright Mana. She didn't even consider wishing them good luck or asking them to take care. Demons always wanted you to assume they were going to win, unconditionally.

Salome sighed, left alone in the parking garage, and stared up at what she could see of the building, trying not to give into the bitterness rankling inside of her.

_I was great. I had the potential to be the most powerful Overlord there ever was, surpassing even Babylon. And now I'm a pitiful human who can barely knife fight._

Salome shook her head._ No. This was the price for helping Zetta, and I paid it willingly._

A soft whining caught Salome's attention. She went to the car and extracted Bonsai (who, sometime, had piddled all over the carpet, probably from sheer terror). She sat on the car hood, holding Bonsai against her chest, stroking his wonderful fluffiness and feeling the soft tap of his heart beat. Bonsai licked her fingers. Salome smiled. Dogs had always charmed her, especially in the Netherworlds, where it was nearly impossible to find anything willing to love without asking questions.

Salome's thoughts turned to Zetta, ranging back from their meeting a thousand years ago, up through the years of her apprenticeship -the happiest years of her life. But then Zetta and she had parted ways, bitterly angry at each other, and she had thought they could never be together again. But maybe she'd been wrong. "My beloved Salome," she whispered, her heart filling with happiness. For the first time in long years, she truly believed that Zetta loved her, loved her enough to give up his life for hers. He'd said it himself in the Sacred Tome. After such an admission, how could he refuse to keep her away again? After Alex was defeated, she could return with Zetta to his Netherworld and-

Salome went still.

No, she realized. No. She couldn't. She was alive, after all. Death was her only gateway to the Netherworlds, and, once dead, she would be the sole property of the King of Hell.

Seedle.

Salome set her teeth._ I am not going to start brooding on this now. Maybe there's some other way, some way I don't know of._ To distract herself, she began to scratch Bonsai under his little silver collar. Bonsai's eyes half-closed in bliss and his tail wagged like a metronome. As Salome shifted the collar, the largest of its silver charms rocked open. It was a locket, and something small dropped on Salome's lap. Frowning, Salome picked it up and held it to her eye.

It was a little disk, about the size of a button.

Reflected light flashed across the disk. Instinctively, Salome placed it back inside Bonsai's locket, snapping it shut and hoping it didn't fall open again. Then she looked over her shoulder. Somehow, she wasn't really surprised.

The flash came from the headlights of a badly battered minivan, a minivan that was rumbling into the parking garage, a minivan that was rocking from the combined weight of the eight thunder giants inside, all of whom had seen her.


	22. Chapter 22

22

Raiden, the driver, cut the engine and nodded at his thunder giant cohorts. As one, they left the minivan, which sagged a bit on its suspension. Salome watched as they approached, their large, light blue bellies jiggling with each step.

"Lady Salome," said Raiden in his almost unintelligibly deep voice, "you are the rightful prisoner of Lord Alex. As per my master's orders, I am here to restore you to captivity."

Salome collected herself and nodded. "I guessed that."

Raiden stopped a few strides away from her. His seven cronies fanned out behind. "Will you come quietly or," he produced a large roll of duct tape, "must I resort to this?"

Salome leisurely contemplated the mental image of her rigged up. "No, I won't resist. Only-" She stretched her left leg (one of the thunder giants considered whistling and thought better of it) and winced. "I've been cooped up in that car for hours. Can we wait a few minutes?"

"We would have to," Raiden replied steadily. "Lord Alex is in no position to conjure up another Happy Bubble. He is...otherwise occupied." They all glanced sidelong at Vu Industries.

The thunder giants went over to sit on the hood of their car. Only Raiden and two others remained by Salome. She studied his fleshy blue profile. "So, how are you doing?"

Raiden regarded her impassively. "I have no complaints."

Salome crossed her legs, placed Bonsai on her knee and began scratching behind his ears. "You're pretty new to this job? I don't remember fighting you before."

"I have been with Master Alex for the last fifty years."

Salome nodded. "After my time. Too bad. As Zetta's right hand, I would've been your opponent in battle."

Raiden studied her. "Indeed you would have. Perhaps it is better you are no longer in Zetta's service."

Salome raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I might've surprised you. After all, are you planning on taking over your own Netherworld?"

The thunder giants glanced at each other. "Well," said Raiden after a moment, "there is a small planet on the margins of Master Alex's Netherworld. He says that if we perform well in his service, he will present it to us as a gift. A home for thunder giants everywhere."

"Are there many of you?" Salome asked politely.

"Oh, many. But we have no where to live. Our wives and children are all stacked together in townhouses on Alex's home planet, seven to a house."

Salome tried and failed to imagine what an infant -let alone a female- thunder giant might look like. "So once you get this planet, you're haring off?"

"Oh no," Raiden said decorously. "We are not rebels. As soon as we've declared ourselves an official arm of Alex's government, we will put through the correct legislature for commonwealth status. Once that's established, we'll set up a local democratic government and vote for reforms in-"

"Well, you certainly would have made for a thorough opponent." Salome rolled Bonsai onto his back and began to rub his fluffy stomach. "Alex seems to trust you quite a bit. It's important to have your Overlord's trust."

"Indeed," Raiden said with feeling. "Without trust, a second-in-command gets blamed for everything."

"I remember. Magog, all the times I messed up early on."

Raiden's eyes grew reminiscent. "Oh yes...No one said it was easy being a right hand."

"Zetta used to give me a regular battalion to command. Does Alex do the same for you?"

Raiden waved proudly at his thunder giants. "Yes, he often sends me on covert missions, and I need ready-trained back up."

"Missions like retrieving me?"

Raiden smiled. "This is one of the easier tasks. Alex once made me infiltrate Lord Zetta's Forbidden Library."

Salome snorted. "I can match that. Zetta once made me infiltrate Alex's bedchamber and fill all his shoes with dragon dung."

"Were you also the person who made all the pipes in the citadel run with rat poison?"

"_And _I took out a third of Alex's personal guard to do it," Salome insisted.

Raiden looked thoughtful. "I am, of course, unswervingly faithful to Master Alex and will give my lifeblood to fulfill his every whim, but...that was actually pretty clever."

Salome shrugged. "No harder than getting into the Forbidden Library."

Raiden sighed. "The things the Overlords make us do."

"I know. Doesn't it ever make you wish...they'd get on it themselves?"

Raiden nodded earnestly. "I sometimes feel they rely on us too much." He gave Salome a bright look.

"What?"

"I'm sorry but -It's so nice to talk shop with someone else like this. So many of the other Overlords don't bother with right hands -It's refreshing to discuss it with someone who understands. Although uh," His serious demeanor returned. "My situation isn't precisely parallel to yours. I'm not Master Alex's er...apprentice."

Salome shrugged. She patted Bonsai on the head. "Do you like dogs?"

Raiden eyed the fluffbum warily. "I'm not very used to-"

"HYAAAAAAAAAAAAA -DIE, o adipose, pestiferous, blue-bottomed bootlicker!"

Salome backed hastily as Zetta landed on Raiden. swiped him upside the head with his sword, and launched himself off the thunder giant's paunch. He descended a second time riding a blaze of fire Mana that took out three of the thunder giants. Zetta stepped protectively between Salome and the rest of the very angry giants.

"What are you doing here?" Salome asked blankly.

"It occurred to me that it was pretty boneheaded of me to leave you unprotected."

"Did you bring backup?"

"Uh...that didn't occur to me."

Meanwhile Raiden, wiping blood from his face, was speaking into a cellphone. "Master Alex, we require backup." Instantly, that floor of the parking garage was full of enemies, hellbouncers, liches, talking logs, bad apples, slimes, prinnies in small airplanes, and a whole wing of brawlers.

As Raiden turned to issue orders, Salome leaned forward and whispered, "Zetta -the Chimera Project. It's in Bonsai's collar."

Zetta blinked. "_What_?"

Salome raised the dog and waved the locket at Zetta. "In here."

Zetta never had time to tell her what he thought of this because Raiden had swung out his ring of drums and was beating out a primitive jungle rhythm. Lightning arced overhead in a blazing net, and the assembled horde began to advance.

Zetta glanced at the horde of opponents, then at Salome. "Okay. This is for your own good."

"Whuh-"

Zetta tossed something at her. The next thing Salome knew, something transparent and hazily purple had surrounded her and Bonsai on all sides, separating her from Zetta. After one look, she realized it was a bubble.

"It's a Badass Freakin' Bubble. Stay alive." Then Zetta raised his sword to his shoulder and went charging head on into the fray.

"A- bubble? No! Zetta, NO, NOT A BUBBLE!" Salome pawed ineffectually at her confines. It was cool to the touch and perfectly taut. Little black flames sparked on the outside whenever she pressed her fingers to the surface. Looking down, she saw more rings of black flames wherever the bubble came into contact with something other than air.

Looking up, Salome saw a female brawler charging her, her eyes wild and an enormous monkey wrench about to come down. The moment the wrench touched the bubble, it was surrounded in writhing black flames. The brawler dropped her weapon and stared uneasily at the bubble. Maybe she was looking for a helpful zipper.

Salome smiled and took one step forward. The Badass Freakin' Bubble instantly shifted, sending her almost to her knees. Salome jogged to keep her footing and the bubble accelerated. The brawler was running. Like a demented hamster in an exercise ball, Salome bore down on her opponent, rolling over her and covering her in flames as she passed. The momentum carried her into a block of hellbouncers. They bombarded her bubble with slashes and punches, but all they got were facefuls of black fire for their pains.

_All right!_ Salome exulted, her old Overlord fervor stirred. _This is how you do bubbles! Where's my next target?_ Various monsters were running in fear of her and her juggernaut bubble of doom._ Hm, I wonder how you change direction?_ She attempted to jump at the side of the bubble, shift its center of gravity to the left, but her feet were pumping wildly to keep up the bubble's speed. Suddenly, she hit the downward ramp of the parking garage, and the bubble redoubled its efforts. Unable to keep up, Salome fell flat on her face and struggled to right herself, but the Badass Freakin' Bubble could not be stopped.

Locked in furious combat, Lord Zetta briefly wondered if he'd actually seen his beloved Salome go hurtling away down Main Street, mowing down everything in her wake with a wave of black fire.

Nah.


	23. Chapter 23

23

The Badass Freakin' Bubble came to a stop against a parked pickup truck. While the auto went up in black flames, Salome sliced the side of the bubble open with the Immortal Edge. Grabbing Bonsai, she dashed through, not wanting to get burned herself. Once safe, Salome took a deep breath and surveyed the area.

She was in a small parking lot between two buildings, a pawn shop and a ceramics store. The area seemed to be deserted. Salome narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. She began to wonder just who had cleared the area, and why.

Leaving the smoldering remains of the bubble and truck, Salome exited the parking lot, the Edge in her right hand, the dog nestled in the crook of her left elbow. _I have to get back to Zetta._ The bubble's passage had left a charred path that was simple enough to follow, yet Salome didn't leave. Who had made it so silent? Why?

"Well, I see you don't have my cellphone anymore," a bland voice said. "Are you going to pay me back?"

Salome turned. Igrayne NicElyn, wearing a pale pink jogging suit, was sitting on a bench in front of the pawn shop, drinking an iced coffee. Salome frowned, wondering how wild a hunch had to be before it was lunatic. "Where is everyone?"

"Sleep spells exist in the human world too," Igrayne replied, still bland. She sucked through her straw. "What's with the dog?"

Salome rotated the Immortal Edge's hilt in her fingers. "Dare I ask what you're doing here?"

Having emptied her paper cup, Igrayne placed it down on the bench. "I imagine your demon honey has incinerated himself trying to steal the Chimera Project by now. Lord Alex told me that he's lost a significant amount of power because of you."

Salome took a deep breath. "You know, it's a good thing I never liked you to begin with, because I don't feel very betrayed now. Just how do you know Alex?"

Igrayne studied her. "Why didn't you do any research on me? If you had, you would've known that I'm a top colleague of Geoffrey Vu. I handle the Mana end of the superweapon."

Salome raised her eyebrows. "So you're the human Alex collaborated with? He sent you the materials, and you built him the weapon that will let him rule the Netherworld?"

Igrayne smiled. "You put things so nicely."

"You _idiot_!"

Igrayne tut-tutted.

"What were you thinking? How did you get started in this? Handing a powerful demon an even more powerful weapon -What the hell is in it for _you_?"

Igrayne stood and crossed her arms. She began to pace, back and forth, in front of the pawn shop. "Long story. I hardly know where to start. Well, of course, humans have always been able to contact demons-"

"Pitiful," said Salome, eyes narrowed. "Do you know how much the demons laugh at humans who do that? And how much those humans suffer in the Underworld?"

Igrayne's eyes glittered. "Not always. Anyway, Alex and I have a very healthy business relationship. I put through the Chimera Project, and he-"

"Makes you Queen of New Blackcastle?"

Igrayne stopped pacing, shifting her entire attention to Salome. Her eyes were dark. "I'd heard about you. Not just Salome, the vicious traitor of the Brave Party. The demons told me of Salome the Overlord."

Salome fingered the Edge's hilt. "So you already knew everything about me when we met. I see why you tucked me so neatly under your wing."

"Of course. Alex knew you were a liability as long as none of us knew where you were. I just had to bring you here, where Alex could deal with you appropriately." She tapped one set of fingers against her arm. "I have to say though, you are a disappointment all around."

Salome paced a step closer to the sorceress. "Because I was amnesiac?"

"Hell!" Igrayne spat. "Because you were a fool! A human Overlord, a queen with all that Mana at your command, and you siphoned it off to a demon? What, do you_ like _being dominated by them? Do you like seeing humanity demeaned in the afterlife?"

Salome was a bit taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"If I'd had your Mana, I would have-" Igrayne abruptly cut herself off.

Salome shook her head. "I'm not even going to try to explain it to you."

"Thanks."

Salome tightened her jaw. "So, you joined Alex why? Is he going to give humans .2 percent of a vote in his Netherworld?"

Igrayne smiled sweetly, her eyes tense. "No, dear, no, darling, not at all. I joined Alex so that when I die, he will take me out of the Underworld and let me live in his Netherworld."

"I hope you like men that are blue."

"Don't you get it, Lady Salome? Do you thing you're the only human clever and strong enough to win her own Netherworld? Perhaps you're the only Overlord stupid enough to relinquish all that."

Salome glared. "You're certainly scary enough to be an Overlord, but I don't think you'll get there."

"I think a good start to my career," Igrayne said, "will be killing you."

"Now you're just being pretentious," Salome said, then darted aside as Igrayne threw a Giga fire at her, charring the asphalt.

"Hm," Igrayne mused, "you've always been so contemptuous of Giga level, but you moved quite fast."

Salome sidestepped, looking for some cover. As another fireball hurtled towards her, she ducked behind the pawn shop's row of trash cans. A blast of heat was thrown towards her, and she slithered to one side, another streak of fire blazing above her head.

"Lady Salome, hiding behind trash. The things you learn when you take a serious interest in history."

Salome edged away from the cans, skirting the side of the pawn shop. _What can I do?_

There was a flash of white. Salome gasped as a long spear of ice hit her full on, slamming into her bones and drawing blood across her body. She came out of the spell bleeding, bruised and soaking wet. She flicked wet strands of hair out of her eyes, made a lunge in Igrayne's direction, then crumpled to her knees, then forward onto her face. She gasped in pain. "Zetta!"

"Touching," Igrayne muttered, walking towards her. She stopped, her feet inches from Salome's eyes. "Look at it this way: I'll kill you, and then you'll drag your way through the Underworld. Maybe you'll even get back to your demon."

Salome drew in a rattling breath. Then she rolled over and stabbed Igrayne in the thigh, piercing the femoral artery. Igrayne gasped and grabbed her leg. For a moment, there was no blood, then her heart beat and a red tide came splashing out. Salome backed away from Igrayne, her limbs still trembling from the spell.

Igrayne groaned and sank to the pavement, holding her leg, blood covering her hands like wet gloves. She was rapidly blacking out. Salome turned away, profoundly disturbed. Seeing Igrayne die, seeing the last precious moments of a human's life, recalled the moments of her own death, her human death of innocence. Igrayne wasn't innocent, but that would not make the afterlife any easier. Not, Salome reflected, that it should be. She rose unsteadily to her feet, not looking at Igrayne, and wiped the Edge clean on her jeans. To her vague surprise, she found the blood smears painted her own leg.

Salome sighed. Killing was always different in the human world, even when it was in self-defense.

Salome walked on, following the charred path back to Vu Industries, trying to focus only one what she had to do next. It might be madness, walking into that horde of battling demons, but what could she do? When she returned to the parking garage, she found it entirely deserted. Zetta's car and the minivan stood silent.

Salome looked around, unsure what to do. Her legs began to shake again, cold coating her muscles like a freezing gel. Igrayne's spell was still inside of her, and its delayed reaction had overtaken her. She lacked the Mana that would force it out of her system, she lacked the resistance that would let her conquer its effects. Salome panted, gripping a door handle to Zetta's car. Bonsai whimpered. _Rest -rest can help_. Salome sank heavily to the pavement. The asphalt felt like ice, but her limbs could no longer support her. She lay down by the car, waiting. Coldness radiated through her entire body, never abating. Her vision was going black.

_No..._

"Hey! Hey, it's okay. I'm here," a gooey warm voice said.

She was gathered up in strong arms, pressed against a well-muscled chest. Healing Mana flooded into her system. With a shriek, Salome recalled that Zetta couldn't heal to save anyone's life, and, jerking away, she plugged her benefactor squarely across the jaw.

Unharmed, Alex caterwauled with laughter. "Magog, you should've seen your face! Did you really think I was Zetta? Damn, humans are so gullible! This place is great!"

Salome backed away from the God of Destruction, eyeing him. He looked exactly like she remembered him. In fact, she could see no traces of wounds on him anywhere. Alarmed and angry, she sat up. "Where's Zetta?"

"That creep? Hell knows." Alex let off another peel of triumphant laughter. "Raiden's probably sitting on his head right now."

"Why did you cure me?" Salome asked suspiciously.

Alex gave her an impatient look. "Do I have to spell it out for you? You're still my captive. I'm prolly going to get Zetta to give up his Netherworld for your safe return."

Salome bared her teeth.

"Oooo, no snarling, Lady Salome. 'S'not pretty."

"I was smiling," Salome informed him, "over the fond memory of destroying you in our last duel."

Alex's expression grew a bit ugly. "Tch! You were lucky that day. Aside from being an obsessed freak. Did you really _make _Zetta kill you? Talk about tough love. Hey, what's this dog?"

With a start, Salome realized that Bonsai had trundled his way over to Alex's crossed legs and was sniffing his sandal experimentally. With another start, she realized that his locket was partway open. She could just see the silver gleam of Chimera.

"I picked him up on the way," Salome said, amazed at the steadiness in her own voice. "Kind of cute, I thought."

"If ya like that stuff," Alex said, regarding the pup dubiously. As Bonsai whuffled along the floor next to Alex, his locket popped open and the Chimera felt out, directly under Alex's knee.

"If he bothers you," Salome began, reaching for the dog, "I'll just take him." She intended to scoop Bonsai up, and the Chimera with him, but Bonsai was through with being carried around like someone's clutch purse. He sneezed irritably at Salome and trotted away, his backside switching from side to side. He began to make a thorough examination of the minivan's undercarriage.

Salome dragged her gaze away from the glint of silver under Alex's knee before the Overlord noticed. "Things must be going well on your end, if you're able to leave your forces like this."

Alex stretched. "Everything goes well when you're El Dios de Destruccion."

Salome figured that the only thing she could do at this point was stall. "So...how's Drake mixed up in all this?"

Alex snorted. "You know Fuzzbrain. Always wants a piece of someone's pie. But he'd found an entrance into this human world, and I had to agree to join forces to go through. Besides, he's good at grunt work."

"And what were you doing in Azthayo City? I mean, at the diner? I've been wondering about that for ages."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "You know, we really need to talk about that one. Put my hand up your skirt? Like I'd _ever_-"

"Yes, of course, but what were you doing there?"

"Well, we landed here in New Blackcastle first. We kinda weren't too quiet about it..."

"It was on the International News."

"Yeah...Anyway, Igrayne -did Igrayne tell you?"

Salome resisted the impulse to sigh. "Yes, go on."

"Well, Igrayne didn't know where Chimera was. Still doesn't," Alex added with frustration.

Salome glanced at the bloodstain down her leg. "Igrayne's dead. I killed her about ten minutes ago."

Alex raised his eyebrows. "What'd she do, roll over and play dead?"

"Just go on."

"Well... Igrayne was pretty sure Miakoda knew where Chimera was, so we nipped him immediately. Got a whiny little brat in the process, but oh well. We also got-" He looked blankly at Bonsai for a moment. "Well... maybe not. Miakoda wouldn't talk. Drake and I went down south to Azthayo to ask Igrayne some more questions. And, well, I got hungry. So I dropped in at your diner."

"You said you were working with Zetta."

"I didn't know you were an amnesiac. I lied. Aw, did it hurt your feelings? So then, Igrayne picked you up and decided to test how much you remembered. We figured you weren't much of a threat. So she left you on the corner of Caldur and Banebridge to be nabbed by Drake."

"Yes."

"And _then_," Alex said with feeling, "you had the nerve to break loose! I can't believe you sometimes!_ And _you got your memories back." He eyed Salome darkly. "Man, there's no depth you humans won't sink to."

"So now your troops are looking for the Chimera?"

"Yup. If anyone finds it, it'll be them." Salome held her breath while Alex scratched his ankle, but he didn't move his foot. "I gotta say, Salome, it's good to be the Supreme Overlord. Zetta can hardly face me, he's so ashamed. Six thousand years of feuding has paid off."

Salome glared lividly at him.

"Now now," he said, "just wait a bit longer. Then Zetta will give up his Netherworld, and you and he can go honeymoon on some little asteroid somewhere. Maybe I'll even let you guys have a minor satellite to live on, if you're nice." He rose to his feet, stepping on the little disk. "Well, I'll just be leaving you in a bubble and-"

Salome sprang and hit both of his knees, palms open. There was a blast of lightning and Alex fell back onto his derriere. Salome straightened to upright and deliberately put her right boot over the disk; she didn't risk checking to see if it was still intact.

Alex glared and snickered. "Okay, that didn't do you any good. Now what?"

There was a blast of burgundy fire directly behind Salome. Both she and Alex recognized it instantly.

"Damn, Salome," Zetta said, "there you are! I've had my-"

Alex jumped to his feet, lighting crackling like live wires around him. "Forget her, Zetta! Let's settle this!"

Zetta's eyes blazed, and sparks sprang off of him, hissing on the pavement. "Alex!" The Zetta Sword shot out.

"I'm going to kill you, Zetta the most Badass Has-Been in the Universe!"

"You want to see some blood, little boy? I'm going to use yours to finger paint!"

Salome glanced at them, wondering if, maybe, they needed some other outlet. "Zetta," she said, "you have to protect Bonsai! His locket-"

"What?" said Alex. "Bonsai?"

Bonsai barked helpfully. He was squirming out of the minivan's exhaust pipe, which he hadn't found to his liking.

"Wait a minute!" Alex's fists began to shake with rage. "That little dog _was_ with Miakoda! Is Chimera with-"

"Nice going," Zetta said caustically, glaring at Salome.

Alex wheeled and charged towards the minivan. Zetta pivoted and gave chase.

Bonsai took one look at the two demons careening in his direction and ran for his life.


	24. Chapter 24

24

While the two rival Overlords rushed headlong down a large parking garage after a fluffy little dog, Salome took her right boot off the Chimera Project.

All she saw was a small scattered heap of silver shards.

Salome sighed. Disappointing, but there was nothing she could do to change it now. She ground her heel into the shards, pulverizing them into sparkling dust which she kicked away into a corner. She turned to watch the Overlords.

They had cornered Bonsai at the far end of the garage, legs braced, both ready to grab him first. Bonsai glared up at them, body vibrating with a puny growl, fluff bristling. With a mighty yip, he dashed between Zetta's feet. The Freakin One fumbled and fell forward onto one hand. Alex landed a kick on the seat of his rival's pants as he dashed after the dog.

"C'mere you little, mutt -C'MERE!"

"Don't go with that loser!" Zetta puffed. "I fed you this morning! You think that creep's gonna feed you?"

Bonsai sought refuge under the minivan. Zetta and Alex crouched at either end of it, making affectionate "Here doggy-doggy-doggy" sounds.

Bonsai glanced at Alex.

"That's right, pupperoo, I'll give you your own Netherworld full of milk bones and prime rib and French poodles-"

Bonsai glanced at Zetta.

"Who's a badass little doggy-woggy? Zetta's gonna buy you a whole cow to eat, I promise-"

Bonsai glanced at the exhaust pipe, but couldn't bring himself to face it. With a desperate howl, he dashed for Salome.

"YAAAAARGH you little-" from Alex, lunging forward.

"BANZAI, BONSAI!" from Zetta, likewise.

Their heads made a sound like two outsized billiard balls plinking together.

Salome crouched, and Bonsai hopped neatly into her two palms, trembling with exhaustion. Salome straightened and held the little fluffball to her heart. Bonsai commenced washing her collarbone.

Alex advanced angrily towards her, rubbing his forehead. Zetta looked just as angry, but he stopped between Alex and Salome, eyeing them both with annoyance.

"Okay," Alex puffed, "none of us are leaving this parking garage until I have the Chimera."

Salome opened her mouth.

Part of the ceiling crashed in.

Salome was really quite impressed with Zetta. She hadn't thought he had it in him, but he lunged for her protectively, ready to shield her body with his own. His aim was slightly off however, and he clipped her jaw with one of his hands. Salome went fumbling backwards and landed on her posterior. Zetta fell forward and skinned his palms. The largest chunk of ceiling fell directly onto Alex.

Zetta swore and glanced at Salome. "You okay?"

"Yes." Salome was looking up. Zetta looked up.

Dragon Overlord Babylon looked down at them from the other side of the hole, blinking a bit drowsily. "Am I...late?"

Alex was clawing his way out from under two tons of concrete. When he emerged, he was slightly bruised. He also had a manic death light in his eyes. "I -puff- am going to -puff- kill you all! I'm -puff-puff- gonna turn that dog- gasp! -into a nose warmer-"

"Oh," Babylon rumbled contritely. "I _am_ late. I'm so sorry, I lost track of the time. Do pardon me, young ones."

Zetta stood, also breathing hard, glaring at Alex. "I'm going to use your hide to make new boots."

"But Trenia -child, you said I'd be in time," Babylon insisted to the little blue book he'd found two nights ago in an abandoned warehouse.

"Your skull will be a lovely trash can," Alex seethed.

"Hm ho," said Trenia.

"Master Alex-" Raiden puffed. "Master Alex!"

No one turned his head, but all eyes shifted to the large, profusely bleeding thunder giant.

"Master Alex, the enemy is too strong. We must retreat, or we'll be obliterated."

"Retreat?" Alex repeated, fists shaking. "Retreat? Like hell! There's no way I'm gonna-"

From the east, a tide of Alex's hellbouncers came running into the garage, followed by a blazing Valvoga. Dryzen's jaws were emitting an endless stream of fire, Ophelia's eyes were shooting out lasers, and Micky was brandishing a bloody battle ax in each hand, his head revolving at an alarming speed.

From the west, the fruit 'n' veggie warriors were clocking at an impressive rate, none running half so impressively as the Lion Overlord at their head. As Drake screamed and ineffectually waved his Cutesy flower, Pram followed in a burst of brilliant light, spinning through the air like a psychotic ballerina, tossing out spears of Mana in every direction.

"Eh," said Alex, losing a bit of momentum. He turned to Zetta and regarded him a few moments. Then his leaned back, put one hand on his hip, and laughed brazenly. "Okay. Fine! Badass Nimrod here can just see me fight another day." And then, thank Gog and Magog, he and his forces vanished.

Zetta turned haughtily to his allies. "Tch. I had it under control."

Xxxxxxxxx

Salome was sitting on the hood of Zetta's car again, petting Bonsai, listening to Zetta and Valvoga bicker about drill collections. Micky had to satisfy himself with claiming Zetta's Chia Pet collection ("After all," Ophelia observed, "if we figure out how to animate them, we can breed poison ivy varieties and conquer _any_ battlefield.") After Valvoga left, Pram went on for ages about how Zetta really owed her his entire Netherworld. She got off with a few of Zetta's obscure spell books (_How to Possess Your Enemy's Nose and Use It Against Him_). Babylon rumbled for quite awhile about how battles just weren't as interesting as they used to be, and nobody had enough Mana nowadays, and why couldn't they ever go somewhere that had lady dragons, until he remembered that he had to take his throat medicine and left for home. Trenia giggled cheerily at Zetta and told him that everything was always for the best and she was so pleased he'd come to rescue her, he really was a good person, wasn't he, and Zetta took one of his many belts and wrapped it around her, effectively shutting up the front cover. He put the Sacred Tome in the car's backseat. Salome sighed unhappily as she realized she and Zetta were alone.

"I can't believe you smashed the Chimera," he grumbled, standing next to her. "It's not like I have superweapons rusting on my front lawn right now."

"I think Alex broke it anyway," Salome said wearily. Bonsai wriggled out of her hands and began trying to climb up the car's windshield. His over-fluffed bottom helped cushion the falls.

"Hmph. Well...there's no shortage of evil humans. Someone else will develop another one."

"Mm," Salome said. After a long silence, she knew she couldn't delay anymore. "You should get going. Alex is probably planning some revenge right now."

Zetta looked quickly up. "Yeah. I should."

Salome stared at the knife on her thigh. "I...almost...want to kill myself and go with you." Salome closed her eyes. "Right now."

"What the hell? Salome!"

"I'm not going to," she said quickly. "I'm never going to."

"Good." Zetta sighed heavily. "I'm -sick of seeing you die." He bared his teeth in frustration. "Like hell I'm going to let you waste your life for me again."

Salome looked sadly at him. "I should've known you wouldn't like my sacrifice."

"Of course not," Zetta retorted, and, Salome reflected, rightly enough.

Salome sighed and used her thumbs to knead the skin under her eyes. She felt brittle, about to snap at any moment. _I get to lose you. Again._

_Always._

Salome tightened her jaw. "I'm sorry I wasn't more help to you."

Zetta looked moodily at his feet.

"I always want to help you. Make you happy."

"Make _yourself _happy," Zetta snapped. "You can get to me later."

Salome half-laughed. "You're right, sometimes." She stood and wrapped her arms around Zetta's waist, leaning against his chest. Zetta stiffened, then caught her closer, his hands on her hair and shoulders, his cheek against her neck.

Salome didn't cry; her sudden inability to shed tears was somehow worse than the most unrestrained sobbing. "It won't be that long," she said, "for you. Time moves quickly in the Netherworlds." _For me? How long will I live? Fifty years, sixty years, seventy years. This may be my last chance to hold you for seventy years._ She pulled slightly away and kissed him, heart hammering. This was so much worse than forcing him to kill her, because she'd only expected the torment of a deeper hell afterwards. She feared the years of loneliness far more. She buried her face in Zetta's shoulder. Zetta gave her a gentle kiss on the neck and a far less gentle one on the cheek. He seemed unable to speak.

Salome closed her eyes for a long moment. Then she opened her eyes and amazed herself by being the first to pull back. They looked at each other.

"Alex is probably planting a detonator whoopie-cushion on your throne right now," Salome said heavily. Best to end this.

Zetta, not listening, as usual, grabbed her in another fierce kiss, leaving Salome breathless. Then he turned and stalked towards his car, glowering with rage. As he started the engine, Salome retrieved Bonsai from among the windshield wipers. Zetta gave her one look before the car shimmered into the thirteenth dimension and was gone.

Salome sat, alone on the pavement, her heart like an open wound. She blinked at Bonsai's comically cute face, trying to come to terms with herself, trying to force away the anguish. She searched for something to say.

"He -he took my duffel bag."

She cried helplessly.


	25. Chapter 25

25

Midterms soon.

Miss Xxxxxxxxxx, the World History teacher at Shadowood High School, finished pouring dog kibblies for her pet Bonsai Retriever, Susanna. Susanna had been a gift from Dacia Vu six years ago at the event of Dacia's marriage, and Susanna was a direct descendant of the original Bonsai Retriever. Susanna bent and began to nip her food eagerly, heavy with her third litter of puppies. Miss Xxxxxxxxxx was glad the holiday break was coming so she could watch over the dog.

Miss Xxxxxxxxxx went back to her bedroom in her small apartment and got dressed in a button-up white blouse, a cranberry-colored cardigan and a black skirt. She strapped a long gold dagger along her upper thigh, as she did every day, just for its comforting feel. Under the bulky skirt, no one could tell. She studied herself in the full-length mirror. Today was her fiftieth birthday.

The firm, streamlined muscles of her young adulthood and atrophied into flab years ago, giving her poochy wide hips and a jiggling stomach. Her breasts sagged, and she had a double-chin. And, she realized, leaning forward, bags under her eyes, though the green irises were still bright. Her blonde hair was dingy with streaks of gray, pulled back into a long ponytail. Four gold bars glinted down from her ears. Sighing, she pulled up her already-scrunchy pantyhose, stepped into her sensible black lace-up shoes, and, picking up her teaching bag, walked out the door.

She battled her way through the morning traffic. This wasn't the most congested area of New Blackcastle, but it was plenty busy. That suited her. She'd turned into a city person, and she wanted to near the center of news in case...in case anything ever happened. She'd lived here for twenty-six years, had attended college here. She'd decided the best thing she was good at right now was being a teacher, so she'd decided to go in for history.

Miss Xxxxxxxxxxx always paced when she lectured her class, especially on review days such as today. It helped her stay focused, especially as the students' eyes glazed over. Miss Xxxxxxxxxx regarded these individuals with contempt; the only students she liked were the ones who wanted to learn, a fact she made no secret of. Above all, she hated parents who carped at _her_ because their kids weren't studying.

"By then, Fehran had simply stretched himself too thin," she was saying. "A combination of bad ruling and plain cruelty had won him no support from his people, and all but his fanatic generals had left him. The Brave Party had no trouble overwhelming Azthayo City."

Miss Xxxxxxxxxx got to this story every year in history class, and she always told it the same way. "Of course, Lord Seedle never became king. Salome killed him. Most people will tell you that it's because she was insane, but I don't think the evidence points that way. She claimed Seedle had tried to rape her, and there's nothing to show she'd ever lied before. None of her previous behavior indicates insanity. Logically, that's the only conclusion that makes sense." Miss Xxxxxxxxxx noticed two students glance at each other. Miss Xxxxxxxxxx was a good teacher, but all teachers had their weird, improbably theories. Take Mr. Busby in room 208 who thought elephants lived in New Blackcastle's sewers.

After class that day, the principal, Ms. Velle, asked to see Miss Xxxxxxxxxx in her office. Ms. Velle poured cups of coffee and looked impatient. She was tapping her stiletto heels against the floor under her desk and fidgeting uncomfortably with the neck of her low cut blouse. "Zetta, I'm really sorry to harp on this again, but you've got to stop."

Miss Xxxxxxxxx raised her eyebrows as she sipped her coffee.

"You know what I'm talking about," Ms. Velle said irritably, running a hand through her multi-layered black hair. "The history. It's okay to have your own opinions, but I don't want you talking about them."

"Mmmhmm."

Ms. Velle gestured to her computer. "I've had six emails in the past week alone. Gary Tedric -you know, the _world famous historian_- thinks it's a joke that his kid's learning Lord Seedle was a rapist. I mean, come on, Zetta. No history book says that he was, and who cares? The students don't. The colleges don't. Maybe it's fun for historians to speculate over, but come on, it happened a thousand years ago. Just teach it like the books."

Miss Xxxxxxxxxx sighed. "I understand. I'll try to remember. It's not easy when you're as forgetful as -oh! I'm so _sorry_, Marlaina!"

Ms. Velle grabbed the napkin from under her cup and dabbed furiously at the hot coffee spilled across her front and lap. Miss Xxxxxxxxx retrieved her cup with a little smile.

"Well, you'd better remember this time," Ms. Velle groused, "because if you don't, I'm going to fire you."

Miss Xxxxxxxxxx looked calm. "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to. I won't speak against my convictions."

Thirteen minutes later, Miss Xxxxxxxxx, sans her job, was walking across the parking lot towards her car, fuming a bit. Neither she nor the sixteen year old in the yellow four-seater realized she'd been hit before it was too late.


	26. Chapter 26

26

Hot air blasted into Salome's face. She opened eyes the same color as Seedle's blood and picked herself up from the hot rock. A yellow fog spread all around her, punctuated by blazes of fire in the distance. The rotten smell of sulfur flooded her throat. She glanced around. People were lying all around her, as they had the first time, hundreds of unfortunates who had died at the same moment she had. A few of the stronger ones were sitting up, wide-eyed and staring blankly at the surroundings. Salome knew she didn't have time for that.

Salome stood, blasts of heat nearly beating her back down. She almost ripped off some of her clothes, but then decided she'd better not lose the little protection she had. A sword blade could get caught in a cardigan, if she were lucky.

Salome briefly examined herself and sighed with relief. Death once again had covered her with agelessness. Her muscles were firm and strong again, her hair untouched by gray. She ran her fingers across her suddenly long pointed ears, then remembered she had to hurry. She jerked up her skirt, drawing a few preoccupied looks from the male dead, retrieved the Immortal Edge, and moved off, hugging a low line of boulders, red and smoldering as coals.

Salome didn't know how soon Seedle would realize she was in the Underworld, but she was sure she didn't have enough time to gather sufficient Mana to overwhelm him. As she passed a clump of hideous Makai flowers, she spotted a row of the sentient logs that patrolled -and contributed fuel- in hell. She decided, weak as she was, she could handle logs.

She could.

Pulling some splinters out of her hair, Salome grimaced at the small pittance of Mana she'd gleaned from that. She sighed in frustration. There was no quick way to win a lot of Mana, not unless someone was willing to give it. She eyed the legions of newly arrived dead, then looked away. She couldn't bring herself to harvest among the helpless. At least the demons were generally reincarnated.

Speaking of which, there was a lone archer now.

When finished, Salome picked up and discarded the archer's small low-level rifle. Guns had never been high on her proficiency list, and such a weak one would do no good against an Overlord as powerful as Seedle.

Salome tensed, ducking behind a thorn bush. Several demons were marching by, hulking guards in spiked black armor. Leading them was a damned human, a samurai, one with long silver-streaked black hair. Salome raised her eyebrows, but she let Gar pass without a word. He was probably just as loyal to Seedle in death.

Once the unit had passed, Salome studied as much of the Underworld as she could see. She was on a high ridge, an enormous lake of fire far to her left and down a slope. In front, the road down the ridge switchbacked into a bowl-shaped valley. It looked fairly wild, overgrown with more thorn trees and blood-oozing flowers. At the far end of the field, Salome saw a white blue light. She started. A Makai gate. Salome drew a deep breath. She probably didn't have the Mana to get herself across the cosmos to Zetta's Netherworld, and she didn't think she had time to acquire it. Seedle would know she was here sooner or

Pain burned down her back, ripping through her shirt, blouse, and skin. Salome swung around, ignoring the blaze and the swift trickles of blood rippling down her back. She shifted into a parry just as Seedle's short katana came up. Salome jumped back and to the side. She barely dodged the long katana as it swiped for her middle. Salome sidestepped several more paces, knowing that she had every disadvantage. She also knew that Seedle wouldn't let this opportunity pass without some sort of speech.

Seedle lunged. Salome dropped to one knee, the short katana passing over her shoulder, the other slashing down her arm, sheering off thin layers of blouse, sweater and skin. Salome buried the Edge to its hilt in his abdomen, then reeled back, dodging two more strokes. Though Seedle's blood now coated her right hand to the knuckles, she hadn't harmed him much.

Seedle laughed. "You thought a trick like that would work twice?"

Salome didn't have to study him long. She remembered him far too well.

"Well, Lady Salome," Seedle said pleasantly, "finally you're back where you belong. Now I-"

"How do you know I'm really Salome?" she taunted, edging her feet until they were on the relatively unbroken surface of the road.

Seedle snorted. "I admit, you're dressed pretty bad, but-"

Salome made a lunge for his chest. He blocked it, his katana radiant silver in the light. His teeth flashed in a mocking smile as he shoved her smaller blade away. Salome tried to regulate her breathing. That test had showed her that Seedle wanted to toy with her. She'd deliberately opened herself for an attack by his other blade, and he'd let it pass.

All right.

Salome smiled sweetly, the same smile she'd given Zetta before inviting him to kill her. "I might not be Salome." She took several steps back down the road. It didn't help her position, but she had to keep moving. "I might be A Bao A Qu, taken on the one form you still fear."

"Hmph," was all Seedle said. Salome guessed he didn't want to be reminded of those days any more than she did. He took an experimental swipe at her midsection, and let her parry it.

Salome continued to give ground, and continued to smile. "I see you still have the scar from where I stabbed you last time."

Salome gasped as Seedle's katana swiped across her front, tearing her shirt. The plain white cotton blossomed red. "Would you like a scar too? I'll have to stab deeper." Swallowing, Salome continued to retreat. Now Seedle was the one smiling. "So, have you been practicing your fighting in the human world? It hasn't done you much good. And you can back as close to that gate as you want, but you won't get through." Salome parried the long katana. The short katana sliced the side of her left wrist. Salome jumped back and stumbled, righting herself just as the long katana swooped towards her head. Dodging, Salome was grateful that it only nicked her shoulder.

"You used to be so protective of me," Salome said, voice hard-edged with contempt. "You'd throw fits if anyone so much as waved a sword in my direction."

Seedle made a jab at her ankle. Cursing, Salome hopped backwards. "And you," he replied, his expression suddenly distant, "used to burn your Mana almost dry to see that I was cured."

Salome's left foot touched the level. Thorns and hideous flowers rose up around them. Salome made a thrust for his right arm, hoping to numb it with the flat of her blade, but she was much, much too slow. "I learned a lot in the human world," Salome puffed. "The historians claim you loved me, that I killed you out of insanity." She blocked the long katana with the Immortal Edge. Seedle smacked her left arm with the short katana, almost numbing it. "No one will ever believe what you really are."

Seedle's eye was dark, still slightly preoccupied. He parried several of Salome's blows, but, for the moment, didn't advance any his own. "Salome the Ingrate is a better name for you," he growled.

"'Ingrate'? I'm an ingrate because I said 'stop'?"

Seedle made a lunge for her ribcage. Salome could only block one sword at a time, and the short katana pierced her side, not too deep, but deep enough. Salome gasped, retreating, backing into a thorn bush. She jumped away, blood shimmering down her hip and leg. Her hand shook with rage. "You are a helpless beast. I refused you, and the only way you could cope was by forcing me!"

Seedle's katanas flashed at once, striking two deliberately non-fatal blows. One sheered off another streamer of flesh from her arm. The other sliced a leaf of skin down her stomach. Salome gasped, unable to look at the naked blood and muscle. She kept her eyes on Seedle. _I killed you once.  
_

Seedle's eye was narrowed, almost totally opaque in its hatred. "There are so many ways to kill you, Salome. I'll have to try each one."

Salome panted, continuing to retreat. "I'm glad you've given up the whole raping idea."

The long katana slammed into the Immortal Edge, rattling her right arm to the shoulder. "You're no longer the woman I wanted. Now you're just the traitor I'm going to kill."

Another parry, both blades now forming a bloody cross. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Seedle eyed her. Then, he lowered both katanas into guard positions, waiting for her strike. Panting, Salome did the same. It was all she could think to do. For a moment, they stopped moving.

Salome took a deep breath. "Why did you do it? If you needed to satisfy your desire, you could've grabbed any girl off the streets of Azthayo City." Her hands were shaking again. "I was a priestess! And I'd trusted you with my _life!_ Why did you try to take everything away from me?"

Seedle's eye was unreadable. "Why did you follow me for two years, giving up the safety you could have found in hiding? Why did you cure me and support me and fight for me for two years?"

Salome hesitated a long moment. "Because I had things to fight for, just as you did."

Seedle narrowed his eyes. "Because you loved me."

Salome didn't bother correcting him. "I still have things to fight for. You have nothing but revenge."

Seedle bared his teeth and lunged for her heart. Salome fell to her knees, avoiding the first strike. With the Immortal Edge, she blocked the second stab to her neck She thrust her bleeding left hand into the wound she'd made in Seedle's side.

There was a flash of red light, then Seedle shoved her away, backing several steps, his eye gleaming with hatred. "What did you do?" he rasped.

Salome closed her left hand into a fist. "I withdrew some of your Mana," she said evenly. "I know a lot about taking and giving Mana."

"Hah! I still have enough to kill you."

Salome swallowed. "But you don't time." She jumped backwards through the Makai gate, blacking out, hoping, hoping she'd stolen enough Mana to take her home.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Consciousness rolled on and over Salome, flickering light and dark. She opened her eyes several times and didn't recognize what she saw. She felt the blood cool on her body, felt her nerves smarting, felt thick nausea in her throat. The world blanked out again, flickered in, time after time after time. She did not know where she was, whether she'd live, whether she even still had the Mana for a simple curing spell. She tried to speak, moving her lips and her throat, feeling the breath pass her teeth, but she couldn't hear her own voice.

Consciousness rolled on and over Salome, flickering light and dark.

Consciousness rolled off Salome, leaving her in the darkness.

Consciousness blazed into her skull, burning a black-edged hole in the fabric of her vision. All she could see in the hole was stunning brightness.

Salome could no longer feel any blood. Was she still bleeding? Was she bandaged? Was she cured?

Darkness soothed her, let her forget her questions.

Consciousness fell on Salome. She was awake. Incredibly heavy, her eyelids didn't seem able to open. Her hand was resting on leather.

"Zetta."

"Dammit!" came a voice, as if from miles away. "Salome, are you-?"

Salome moved her fingers on the leather, tracing the lines of a wrist and lower arm. She worked her way down to his knuckles, then slipped her hand under his.

"Salome!"

"Zetta," she whispered. She felt awful, incredibly ill. "Am I dying?"

"You'd_ better_ not! If you do, I'll kill Trenia. You're supposed to be cured."

Somewhere, leagues, countries, universes away, Trenia giggled. "It takes awhile, Lord Zetta, even for me. She lived through a duel with one of the most powerful Overlords, after all."

"Zetta...am I...am I..."

"_Yes_, you're going to live. I told you."

_Am I still wearing that awful outfit? _she'd meant to say, but she couldn't string that many words together just yet.

"Damn." She felt Zetta's hand sliding down her face to her neck and shoulder. "It's going to take forever to get you fighting again."

"Good," Salome whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll...have to stay...here."

Zetta's hand stopped. "What? Wait, don't tell me this was _another_ plan?"

Salome smiled just slightly. "No."

"_Good_."

"Still...it worked."

"Gog and Magog."

Salome sighed. "Zetta..."

"Don't talk. Rest."

"But I-"

"I _said_ don't talk."

"But I wan-"

"Why do you_ never _listen to me?"

Trenia sighed. "Come on, Lord Zetta. If you can't guess what she's trying to ask, you're even more fat-headed than I thought you were."

"_Huh?_"

"Zetta... can't I please ask-"

"You think I'm _fat-headed?_"

"Let her ask the question!"

"What? Salome? Did you want to say something? Speak up."

Salome took a deep breath. "Do...you love me?" 

There was a long silence.

"He's surprised," Trenia mentioned. "He _didn't_ see that coming."

"I'm sorry," said Salome. "I'm...sorry I always ask that. I...know you're a demon."

"And that I never answer?"

Salome sighed.

"Oh hell," said Zetta. "Fine. Fine. Open your eyes and I'll answer."

Salome opened her eyes.


End file.
